Vercetti's Pet
by French Pop
Summary: About a year later after his big takeover, Vercetti recieves a gift from above...literally. Will this bundle of joy bring out a more compassionate, thoughtful side of Tommy? Rating given for language to be safe.
1. Welcome To Vice City

Yes, Mr. Vercetti

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It's 1987 in Vice City. A young almost sixteen year-old survives a devastating plane crash and is stranded in one of the most crime-ridden, gang-infested cities in the country. How will this lonely 70s child survive? Maybe by the help of the town's self-procclaimed dictator...

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Chapter 1: "Welcome to Vice City"

"Ma, what's happening?" I asked my mother. The jet was trembling and flying towards the ground at a speed not normal for safe-flying planes.

"There's only one left!" said my father to my mom.

"One what? What's going on!" I shouted over the aircraft's blaring sirens and hysteric screaming of the other ten passengers.

"Put this on, babe..." Ma snatched my arm and fitted me with a knapsack of some kind. She held my face and and kissed my forehead with tears streaming down her round face.

"Remeber this...Don't forget who you are, cross your legs like a lady and we will always look after you..." she said.

"And we will always love you." Said Pop, who was crying as well. He grabbed my shoulders and hurriedly pushed me towards a door on the side of the jet. He opened the door and I stood there, looking below me as the earth became nearer and nearer.

"What! Is the plane about to cr--" I was interrupted as ma forcibly shoved me out the door. I fell towards the ground doing somersaults almost. I saw the cord and yanked it with all of my arm's power.

I nearly gagged when the parachute emerged from the knapsack and I had stopped falling. I turned to my immediate right to see the jet...The jet holding my parents and ten other passengers who had jumped out the jet without a chute...Crash into a building.

Watching the jet burst into flames and floating in mid-air, thousands of feet above a nameless body of water, I sobbed quietly to myself. I felt a sudden pain in my chest and clutched it. It was a tight, heart-wrenching pain and it wouldn't go away...Why are my eyes closing? Am I about to die?

- - - - - - - - -

(about half an hour later)

I woke up, dressed in white, in a white bed in a blue-ish room with beeping appliances. Next to me, there was a petite, crimson-headed female, also dressed in white who had a clipboard in her hands and wrote on it while looking at a machine.

"Excuse me ma'am but where am I?" I inquired with a raspy, cracked voice.

"You're in a hospital, hon. Ocean Beach Hospital to be exact." she replied with a Long-Island New York accent.

"Hospital? How'd I end up here?"

"Oh that's right, you're the "Jane Doe From Above". The Police had found you unconsious right outside the hospital, almost suffocated in a parachute. Paramedics say you had a stress-related heart attack. You almost didn't make it hon, you must've had a guardian angel...It's been about one day." she returned to her writing.

I couldn't believe it. I thought all of that was a really terrible dream...That means that...my parents really are dead...I really am stranded in a strange city, alone. I start sobbing hysterically and ended up startling the nurse.

"Now, now hon! What's all the crying for?" she asked as she put her arm around my shoulder in a feeble attempt to comfort me.

"My parents...are dead! I'm all alone! I don't know where I am! I have nowhere to go!"

The nurse got up and approached the door. After looking around and down the hallway, she closed it and sat on the bed with me.

"Just for the record, you're in Vice City, Florida hon." she spoke.

"Vice City?" I calmed down some because I was starting to hyperventilate.

"Now, normally I wouldn't do this but since you have a class-A sob-story, I'll help you out. There's a guy here...Real big-shot, took over the whole city in less than five months and's been runnin' this God-forsaken joint for about a year. His name's Tommy Vercetti." she explained.

"Tommy Vercetti...I've heard of him. My Pop's a big fan of his films. He has a collection but he's never let me seen them for some reason." I said.

"Trust me hon, you'd have NO business viewing THOSE films. But anyways...Here's his numba." she reached into her uniform shirt and pulled out a hot-pink card.

"This is one of his...'estates'. Maybe you could find some work to survive out here but I doubt he's gonna hire a young piece of meat like you to do anything worthwhile. I mean what are ya, fourteen?" She handed me the card and got off the bed.

"Sixteen...In three months..."

"Well, take care hon."

"Thanks..." I guess. She nods her head and exits, closing the door behind her. I look at the card. I says "Pole Posistion Club." I'm suddenly stricken with an ambitious urge.

I jump out of bed and yank the IV tubes from the inside of my arm. It stings, a lot. I then look out the window, open it and climb out (since it's on the first floor). But not before changing into the dingy jeans and my now wrinkled white tshirt I had arrived in.

- - - - - - - - - -

As I was standing in front of the hospital, I looked around. There was a man in a red leather jacket running from a police officer, there was a voloptuous, scantily-clad female bent over the passenger-side window of a dirty-brown Sentinel, and there was a Cherry Popper Ice Cream truck surrounded by at least ten limping, pitiful-looking people.

Where was I?

Another man in a black leather jacket speeds past me riding a Faggio scooter being followed by a fast and noisy PCJ-600 occupying two passengers. The Faggio-rider falls off his ride and is run over by the rival bike.

"Should we take his money and bike?" asks one of the occupants on the PCJ.

"Nah, leave that sucka to rot with his dirty money and piece-of-shit bike." says the other and they drive off.

I and several other bystanders approach the lifeless victim.

"Poor, poor boy..." says a man in a black suit wearing a black hat. He walks off and the others follow him. Staring at the deceased, I collect the $100 from his jacket and drive off on his Faggio. What? It's not like he needs it...

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End Chapter 1

How was that? I hope I didn't drag it out too much. Please read the next chapter but review first...Thank you! 


	2. Pole PropPosition

Yes, Mr. Vercetti

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Chapter 2: Pole Prop-Position

Hours later after begging the rather rude citizens for directions and aimlessly wandering around this part of the city on my gas-drained Faggio, I managed to find this "Pole Posistion" Club. After looking around at my surroundings, I parked my newly-acquired vehicle right next to the open door and walked into the club.

Inside the club, which I discovered is a boobie-bar "Juicy Fruit" by Teena Marie (I think) was playing and near-nude women were dancing provocatively on small stages with poles in the middle. Below their platforms were drunk and gross-looking men, (pressumably just coming from work since most of them were construction workers), cheering, hooting and lazily tossing singles towards the women who seemed immune to the jeering and comments being thrown at them.

As I slowly walked across the club taking in my surroundings, I was approached by a refridgerator-shaped man, standing at least 6"3 wearing an all-black suit, black shoes and thick, boxy sunglasses.

"Where y'think y'goin girlie?" he asked with the voice of a hibernating grizzly bear

"Leave her alone Mitch, she could be a dancer!" shouted a short brown-skinned female wearing a Zebra-patterned dress who was mixing drinks at a bar across the room.

"I ain't never seen her here before Andy! Suppose she's here to kill, then what!"

The lady approached us.

"I'll be the judge of that, now shaddup, keep your bat straight and watchin the fuckin' door!" she shouted at Mitch, defeated and retreating back to his post. This was rather amusing since he was more than a foot taller than her.  
"Sorry about that, he's just...really committed to his job. I'm An'Draya by the way but you can call me Andy." she extends her hand and I shake it. "Wow, you're tall..." She says comparing my 5"8 frame to her 5"2.

"I'm looking for Tommy Vercetti?" I whisper

"Girl, speak up...can't nobody hear you up in this piece. It's too DAMN LOUD!" she says stepping into a curtained doorway and shouting at the DJ. "But yes, what exactly could Boss Man do for YOU? You don't look a day over fifteen!"

"Actually, I'm more like 10 months over fifteen...But I'm in a lot of trouble Andy." I begin prolouging my story.

"Well, before you tell me, you want a plate of wings, some potato skins or somthin'? You look like you haven't eaten in weeks, child."

- - - - - - - - - -

(10 minutes later)

"So...You have NOwhere else to go? No family in the area or anything?" she asks.

"My FAMILY didn't survive in that plane crash..." I say with a few tears in my eyes.

"Wow, I have a new respect for you and yet I don't know your name. You must be really strong seeing as this had happened less than 2 days ago."

"I'm trying but now, I just need to find some work so I can survive in this hellhole." I cried.

"Don't worry. I seriously doubt you wanna work here but it's more of the less dangerous work Boss Man would have to offer for you. And, Vice City's not a hellhole! Okay, I won't lie. It is but it's a hellhole full of opportunity. There's a lot of money for you out there, all you need are the skills and connections to claim it, child." says Andy with her mouth half-full of potato skins.

"But don't you wanna try and get out of here? I mean, go back to wherever city you came from?" she swallows

"I do but what for? I have no family, I have no friends, I may as well stay here..."

"But what about--"

"Well, I've been flappin' my gums for the past 10 minutes. What about you Miss Andy?" I interrupt her to avoid any more awkward questions.

"Hmmm there's not too much about me. I'm 28 years old, I graduated from Starfish Academy which they had bulldozed to another ritzy frou-frou housing complex, and I don't have shit to do during the nighttime as you can see."

"Wow." I look around. "Now where's Mr. Vercetti?"

Two seconds after I said that, there was a loud screech and a ear-shattering crash. A few seconds later, a dark-haired man standing about 5"10 casually walks in wearing a red vest, red plaid pants, and is carrying a golf club.

"Mr. Vercetti, I need to talk to you about Andy..." says Mitch to the man. "She's always picking on me, sir."

"Well suck it up and be a man, ya prick." he commands and walks towards the back room past all of the club-goers.

"Mr. Boss Man..." Andy shouts "We gots a new one" she turns around and goes back to her work as if we haven't been discussing amongst each other all of this time.

"Well send her into my office, then!" he shouts

"Now listen." Andy says in a low, secretive voice. "Whatever you do, don't lie...he can tell. Try not to be too nervous...he can sense fear and don't overdo your sobstory." she says. "Good luck, kid." 


	3. The Interview

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Last 2 Chapters: A stranded youth comes to the Pole Posistion Club looking for work.

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Chapter 3: The Interview

I approach and walk towards the back. In the back there are eight doors. I knock on the one that has a huge, silver monogram of a "V" on it.

"Yeah!" shouts the man through the heavy door.

"I'm the new girl?" I timidly reply.

"Come in, come in." I enter the spacious office. Inside is a wide desk, a tall lamp with a dull light bulb, and a basic chair. Next to either side of the door are two gentlemen that very much look like that Mitch guy at the entrance. They are both holding Colt 45s.

"Have a seat. Now I have a question."

I look at him, waiting for the next question. I stare into his brown eyes. They are deep, yet lacking any real expression as if they've gone numb from seeing too much woe and despair in his time. He has a square, chiseled face which has stubble on it as if he hadn't shaved in a few days. He has thick, dark brown eyebrows and sideburns matching his hair. He looks quite handsome in fact. Lost into his appearance, my thoughts are interrupted.

"Not bad for a 36 year-old, huh?" he asks. "Okay, are you here to kill me?"

"No." I quickly answer. He stares hard into my black eyes like he's looking for something. After a good 30 seconds of his intense stare, he motions his doormen to wait outside.

"So, whaddaya want kid?" He asks, loudly.

"I want...I want to work." I hang my head down.

"Look up when you talk to your elders, kid! The hell's the matter with you..."

"I want to work!" I shout and immediately clasp my hands over my mouth.

"Heh-heh. Ya gotta be shittin' me." he chuckles. Then chuckles some more. He stops and stares at me again with his elbows on the desk, his hands folded with his head resting on them. I look around his office and see the golf club he carried in here. It's in the corner and the club part has some...blood on it, looks like.

"Is that blood on that golf club Mr. Vercetti?" I point to break this awkward tension.

"So I like a little 'extremity' in my sports, kid. Sue me. Now why should I even consider to think about hiring you? Don't you know who I am?" He asks.

"Well, I'm eager, I'm a fast learner, I'm trustworthy---"

"Hold it RIGHT there, kid!" he interrupts. He stands up from his chair and starts pacing around the room.

"If there's anything I've learned in this...God-foresaken illusion called 'life', it's that noone and I mean NOONE is trustworthy." he says

"Excuse me?" I ask, puzzled.

"Wake up and smell the Folgers kid. The last time I trusted someone, my whole life almost went to shit. I took 15 years, 15-fuckin years for some bastardly prick!" he screamed.

"However...I can't say it was ALL bad. I managed to take over this city, I have my own drug factory, strip club, a huge mansion, and an infinite number of goons at my beck and call...y'know all that good stuff. And just because I haven't trusted anyone since. Ya understand, kid?"

"I guess so." I answered. He calmy took his seat again.

"But seriously...Why? Why me? Why Vice City? Where the hell did you emerge from, kid?"

"I was just in the hospital. I survived a plane crash that happened over here. My family's dead, and I have nowhere else to go. I wanna survive and make some money."

"Hmmm...I did see that on the news the other day. You were in the crash, eh? Forgive me for seeming like I don't care but I do feel a little sorry for ya. So what's your name, kid?"

"Charmaine." I answer again with my head down.

"What'd I say about havin' your head down, kid!" he shouted again.

"My name is Charmaine, dammit!" I go ballistic on my potential empolyer.

"Heh heh..." he chuckles again. "I like you kid. Ya got moxy. You wear your ovaries on the outside."

I sigh in relief.

"But, I don't know what kind of work you could do kid. I mean, you're what...fifteen? Practially the youngest person to have come through this town, eh? I mean, you should be working a cafe or in a pizza shop or somethin yet you're in the office of my strip club. What gives, kid? Do you have a plan? Why do you wanna roll with Vercetti?"

He had me there. I mean, what made me wanna just run down here anyway? I didn't have a plan. What was I SUPPOSED to do?

I slowly reach for my back pocket and take out the pink card the nurse from the hospital had given me. I handed it to Mr. Vercetti.

"Whoa..." he exhales "Were you by chance given this card by some midget, ginger tart?"

I nod. Even though I had no idea what he meant by "ginger tart".

"She must really care about ya kid. She had called me earlier today, saying you went AWOL at the hospital. She told me to expect a lanky brown-skinned kid but I thought she was just jerking my chain. You really ain't got nowhere else to go, huh?" he twiddled the card in his fingers. "But like I said...I don't know what kind of work I could have you do! I mean, you can't drive..."

"Can too!" I interject in protest.

"Oh yeah? Tell me then Charmin...Would you happen to be the dunderhead who misplaced a crappy-ass scooter right outside the door to my club?" He asked with an eyebrow arched. "I ended up putting a ding in a perfectly good golf cart, kid!"

I blush and look away.

"I thought so. Like I said, you can't drive, you're too finicky to be a theif, it'd be indecent to have you be a hooker or an extra in one of my films, all of my hotels are overstaffed, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you drive a Mr. Whoopee truck around this city sellin' rock." He looks away and scratches his chin. "Well, kid? Any ideas?"

"Well...How about if...I...dance? Here?" I cringed as these words left my mouth.

He gave me a long, hard stare. "I don't think so." he finally said.

"But why not?" I asked.

"It ain't decent, kid! You're a fucking minor! What does Vercetti look like having dancers in my club who still smell like placenta juice?"

"Listen, SIR, I have NOWHERE to go...I don't know ANYTHING about being a waitress, or delivering pizzas or any of that. This seems easy and I'm sure it pays a lot. Enough for me to just...live." I said. Mr. Vercetti stands up and walks towards the door.

"C'mere..." he motions me to look outside the door. "You see them? THESE are bitches who have no ambition, no integrity, no goals, hell...no fucking SOULS! Is THAT where you wanna be, kid?"

He was right. Those girls didn't look too happy. They looked like, marrionettes on stage with an audience just gawking at them. I didn't say anything. We poked our heads back in and shut the door.

"Now it's late kid. Go get some sleep, I'll figure out what I'm gonna do wit ya some other time." he waves his hand as if to say "dismissed" or something.

I give him a blank stare.

"Oh that's right. You're homeless. Tell you what kid, tell Andy to take you to Ocean Heights Hotel...I have a room there you can stay in, relax and...maybe take a shower. You smell like sickness and death, kid." he reaches into his desk drawer and tosses me a pair of keys. "Try not to get yourself killed out here. This is a dangerous city. I'll see you in a couple a' days kid."

I sniff and clench the keys in my hand. I rise from my chair and start towards the door. I turn around. "Thanks Mr. Vercetti." He nods.

- - - - - - - - - - -

End chap.3

Okay, I got some hits but I see some of you haven't reviewed yet! Is it good? Did it suck? I need to know! And BTW, I noticed the overuse of the phrase "kid".

(PS, I'm thinking of changing the title) 


	4. Tommy's Got A Baby

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Chapter 4: Tommy's Got A Baby

Tommy's P.O.V.

Little over 20 minutes ago, this tall, slender, burnt-carmel skinned kid named Charmaine stepped into my office asking for work. As far as I can tell, she's harmless...I mean, she had these huge, round, fear filled eyes with nothing but black in em', a huge forehead, fat cheeks, and a Mafia lower lip. I mean if anything, she's Vice City's next Bambi, right? But I have been wrong before...

But yeah, this kid comes in to my office asking for work and suggests that she becomes another souless broad at the club. I wasn't gonna have that shit. I mean, it's just...WRONG. I can see if she was eighteen but she's still wet behind the ears. Too innocent to be displayed on stage.

I gave her the key to that piece of shit room I had at the Ocean so she could get some rest. I told her to come back here in a couple of days so I could sort out this bullshit. I mean, what does Vercetti know about kids? They cry, they laugh, and they play, right? But in Vice City, there's no time for tears, you can only laugh so much at Maurice Chavez's pathetic show and there's no appropiate place for a child to play...

I don't know what I'm gonna do. She's completely alone in this town. If I won't look after her, who will? Nobody, that's who. These sons of bitches don't care how young you are. It's every man or broad for them fucking selves. But yeah, I don't know WHAT I'm gonna do wit' this kid, but I've seen females who've grown up without decent male figures to guide them from the shady lifestyles I'm profiting from and let's just say she could do better than that. I don't wanna babysit but I can't turn this poor kid away. Well, until I can find somewhere else to place her, old Vercetti's got a kid.

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End Chap. 4

I guess I'm softening Vercetti's image a little bit. But then again, who would turn away a poor kid with no family and is stranded in a town she's never been to. It's only right that someone would help her, right? 


	5. Stop One

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Chapter 5: Stop One

Char's P.O.V.

I walk back towards the bar and Andy rushes towards me from her post.

"So, what he say?" she asks.

"He said 'no'. Said it'd be 'indecent'." I say.

Andy and I were conversing amongst ourselves for a few minutes when we were approached by a dancer at the club. Even through all of the tobacco smoke, I could see her unhealthily thin, pale physique and her sunken face. She rudely stepped between us and faced Andy.

"Yo, Andy..." she sniffs violently like she's trying to circulate the filthy air into her brain. "Fix me a Schnapps with some Pepsi in it..." she requests.

"Oh HELL NO! If anything, you need fucking rehab now get the hell on!" Andy shoves her from out her face. "I don't know why boss man still got your crackheaded ass in here!" she seethes as the junkie is retreating.

"What the--- who was---" I inquire about the skeleton she pushed.

"Oh girl, that's just Sinus." she waves her hand in a "don't worry about it" gesture.

"Sinus?"

"Yeah, well her name used to be Sohpie but ever since she got introduced to that powder, her career's gone downhill. She's been sniffin so much crack it fucked up her nose for good so now we call her 'Sinus'."

"Oh..." I say, giggling to myself at the clever nickname for the dancer. "Well, Mr. Vercetti also told me to tell you to take me to...Ocean Heights?"

"Sure child, no problem."

We exit the club, hop on the mangled Faggio and scoot off into the night.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

About 30 seconds later (with OH being litterally right around the corner), we're at the door of this grand fuschia lit hotel.

"Here we are child, now go get some real sleep. You've had a long weekend." I hop off the bike and when I'm halfway up those stairs I can hear her laughing to herself.

"What?" I ask

"It's just funny how Boss Man's taking in a refugee. There's gonna be some changes around here, I can sense it." she laughs some more and drives off.

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I walk up that long long flight of stairs and finally manage to find my room. I think could tell this was the one Mr. V wanted me to stay in because the door was slightly ajar. Inside there was a small bed, a lamp, a television, a table, a couch, some posters and a few other furniture pieces. Not bad. On the wall however, there were some posters of some girl named "Candy Suxxx".

But then there was this one poster that kept my attention for a good five minutes. It looked as if to be a panel straight from a comic book. Funny thing is, it had a picture of a very handsome man with huge sideburns, a wide set forehead and facial characteristics that gave him a "baby" face. He was wearing a black leather jacket and baggy olive cargo pants. Wonder who he is? I thought.

After gazing at that poster, I flop down on the soft full-sized bed and like magic, I instantly fall asleep amazingly without crying.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

(10:00 am next morning:)

I awake to a near 1st degree burn on the side of my face from the sun shining on it through open blinds. I roll over onto my back, sit up and stretch my arms. For some reason, the phone rings. Unbeknownst to whoever could be on the other end, I pick it up anyway.

"Vercetti residence?" I say, unsure of who was on the other line.

"Real cute kid." says Mr. Vercetti " Listen, wash up and be outside in five minutes." he says.

"Huh? Why?"

"Are you hungry or what? We can go out to lunch OR you can end up like those Ethiopians with the huge stomachs now get ready, kid." he says then hangs up without saying goodbye.

In less than three minutes, I hear a blaring car horn outside the hotel. I look outside my room's window and indeed, there is Mr. Vercetti...In a very nice car. I quickly run downstairs and gracefully trip down the steps outside the hotel door.

"Smooth move, Exlax." Mr. Vercetti says removing his stylish Carrera sunglasses. "Now get in." he reaches over and unlocks my car door from the inside. Embarrassed, I get up, dust myself off, open the door and step into the pearl white Infernus.

"Nice car, Mr. Vercetti..." I compliment him. "And sharp suit!" I say again looking at his expensive looking black and salmon pinstripe suit.

"Whoa kid, don't call me 'Mr. Vercetti' so much. Makes me feel old. You can call me Tommy." he shifts gears and we're on the move. "And for the record, this car belonged to this cocksucker who betrayed me and almost got me killed. Never trust anyone whose last name is 'Vance'."

"Oh..." We both remain silent as he continues to drive. Taking advantage of my ride in a car that I've only seen in secret agent movies, I run my fingers along the smooth, plastic dashboard and touch the soft leather seats, applying pressure in my fingers to feel the plushness of it.

"So, whatcha' got a taste for, kid?" he glances over at me.

"Is there a pizza spot or something around here?" I actually had a craving for Chinese Takeout but I didn't want to seem picky to Mr. Vercetti so I figured it to me more courteous to suggest something more common and readily available.

"Y'know what, that just so happens to be a little bit past out first stop." he smirks

"Stop?" I ask.

"Yeah, I have a buddy who so happens to be one hell of a lawyer. He's gonna pull some strings to see what we can do with ya, kid."

"But I thought you weren't gonna help me for another---" I interjected.

"I was bored alright!" he shouts and startles me.

"O-okay..." Tears start to well up in my eyes as I hung my head down looking away from the monstrous side of Mr. Vercetti who had yelled at me.

After five minutes of complete silence...

"I'm sorry, kid. I ain't mean to yell. I'm just so used to being surrounded by pricks that I haven't quite learned to adjust my voice properly..."

"Oh..." I feel better...I guess. The car swerves and stops.

"We're here, kid."

I open the car door, step outside and move my neck in circles. We're outside a brick building with old, bronze letters on it that spell "Rosenberg & Co.".

- - - - - - - - - -

After climbing about 3 short flights of stairs, we're walking down a narrow hallways approaching an office with it's door wide open. Tommy creeps inside first with me following him. Inside the office is the typical. Tall bookcases with tons of books just to fill it, a small worn out couch, a tall, slinky lamp, a window with the blinds wide open and of course, a wide hand carved wooden desk with a roledex, and various knickknacks on it.

Sitting at the desk is a frumpy looking man with strawberry blonde hair wearing wide aviator style eyeglasses and is sporting a hideous purple suit. I think we were interrupting something because he seemed to be sniffing the desk using a straw. Tommy turns back towards the door and slams it on purpose, startling the lawyer and causing him to fall out of his chair.

"AHH! Oh geez, it's just you Tommy! Christ, I got the powder all over the floor!" the man cries

"That should tell ya something ya dumbass...Crockpot lawyers and cocaine don't mix." Tommy says as an effort to excuse his actions.

"Yeah, yeah whatever...But ah..." he steps towards me, fixing his glasses. "Who's the model cutie you brought with ya?" he runs his fingers through his hair and looks me up and down. Feeling a tad uncomforatble, I ease back behind Tommy then take a little interest to the nearest bookshelf.

"Hey, watch it. This is the kid." Tommy points his finger in the other man's face.

"What! You have a kid? Who's the unlucky gal?" he gently elbows Tommy and chuckles a bit which is followed by a backhand to the head from Tommy.

"You idiot! This is THE kid!" he shouts. I turn around then quickly resume to looking at the titles of the various books in the office.

"Oh...OHHHHH yeah, the kid, the kid...Damn, you're tall!" he exclaims "How's the weather up there heh heh heh!"

We both give him a hard, annoyed stare at his failed attempt to make a decent pun.

"Ahem..." he clears his throat "Well, I've found a little something for her." he takes a manilla folder from his desk and holds up a paper from the folder. "There is a foster home located in Little Haiti, believe it or not."

I gasp softly and cringe at the sound of "foster home".

"I'll go with not. She ain't goin in no foster home Ken! Let alone Little Haiti." I sigh in relief.

"Well, I don't know what to tell ya, Tom. I mean, what do YOU plan to do? Keep her? Heh, you can't take care of yourself let alone some...kid!" says Ken.  
"I could too!" Tommy interjects raising his voice again.

"Oh really?" Ken says sarcastically.

"Yeah, you know what...I've actually had a lot of time on my hands right now so I guess I will take this kid under my wing for a while."

"Well, it's your funeral kid. He's a maniac." Ken says to me.

"Meanwhile, you get Kent and some other people together and see if you can find out anything about the plane this kid fell from."

"Okay, will do Tommy." he says.

"But keep this a secret, expecially around Paul. His mouth is bigger than the Atlantic Ocean."

We leave the office.

End Chapter

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sigh...i feel so hurt being that I have no reviews and all (except one) 


	6. We're Going Shopping, Kid!

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Chapter 6: We're Going Shopping, Kid!

"Well that was an assload waste of time." says Tommy, putting the keys into the ignition (no pun intended for those of you who are R.Kelly fans) "Let's get something to eat now, I'm fucking starved." the car revs up and Tommy shifts it into drive.

"Did you mean it?" I ask looking down and preparing to be scolded for it.

"Mean what, kid." He says putting his sunglasses back on.

"Saying that you were gonna keep me."

"Well until another, more exiting project comes along, then yeah, I guess I do. You seem like a good kid. Tall, respectable, all you need is someone like me to guide you through the inside world you're gonna witness while stayin' here."

"Oh..." I hang down my head and try to hold back a smile. I was just relieved that I had a bed to lay my head down on. For the first time in three days, I felt secure.

"But yeah, if you're gonna be hangin' around me, we need to get ya a real name, kid."

"What's wrong with MY name!" I asked, my voice slightly shaken as he drove through the grass.

"I mean I understand that your family was original and all but 'Charmaine'? It sounds like fancy toilet paper!" He stops the car outside the pizzeria.

"Hmmph...I like my name..." I sulk in the carseat then get out.

- - - - - - - - - -

Inside the pizzeria are many booths and a counter with an electronic menu above it. At the counter is a dazed looking man with a greasy face and a mild case of acne wearing a red and yellow apron.

"Gimme an extra large pizza with pepperoni. And don't be a stinge with the cheese crater face." Mr Vercetti demands. The cashier walks towards the kitchen "And don't you even THINK about spittin' in the pizza!" Mr. Vercetti shouts. He points to one of the booths and we sit at it to wait on our order.

"Are you serious about getting me a name change!" I shout.

"Calm down, dammit! This is also for security reasons...We're not sure if that plane crash was really an 'accident'." he says using quote bunnies "I'm not saying for sure if someone planned it but you never know." Tommy says then looks suspiciously out the window.

"...I guess I understand, then." I sigh. Suddenly the huge, steaming pizza we had ordered is set in front of us. That didn't take long at all!

"See what happens when the whole city knows who you are, kid?" Tommy says and preceeds to stuff his face with a slice of extra cheesy pepperoni pizza. "M'ow hurry up an' eat kit, so's we can get you's some close..." he says talking with his mouth full. I preceed to do the same.

- - - - - - - - -

About an hour later we arrive at this mall called "North Point". I go in, taking in all the splendor of this wonderful yet unfamiliar place while Mr. Vercetti stumbles in full and satisfied.

"Whoa boy, that's gonna do some damage. Hey mall cop!" he shouts to a blue uniformed man carrying a gun well on the other side of the mall "Where's the shitter in here!"

Mr. Vercetti turns to me and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a fist full of clean, crisp but used hundred dollar bills. He peels off about six or seven of them, rolls them up and places it into my hand.

"Here kid burp. Knock yourself out. Don't forget to also pick up a few quality suits so's you can also look presentable. Oh and none of that slutty crap. You're only fifteen, kid." he says then follows the mall cop to the nearest restroom.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The first store I went into was a small jewelry store. I looked through the display cases with my obsidian eyes sparkling and reflecting through the precious metals. Eventually I had bought two simple chains, two simple pairs of earrings, both silver and gold, and some costume jewelry.

Next I went into the Gash. There, I had bought some of the trendier clothes, some preppy polo tshirts and jeans just for everyday. I also bought some accessories and belts. After seeing that there were no more decent clothing stores, I went to the music store and bought a walk man and some mix tapes to entertain myself then to the bookstore to get some magazines to read.

Eventually, I ran into Mr. Vercetti.

"What, did you need more dough, kid?" he asked about to reach into his pocket again.

"Um...no, this is...fine." I said in a cheery tone, spinning around and twirling my bags. "Thank you, Mr. Vercetti--I mean...Tommy!" I said and gave him a big hug.

"Yeah, whatever kid. Just make sure you doll up and fix your hair up real nice. We're going to the Malibu, tonight." he said.

"But yeah, could we stop by Jocksports and the pharmacy store? Oh and I still need some dress clothes and a suit..." I said.

"Oh that's right, you need muff plugs, right kid?" he said kinda loud which had brought some unwanted attention to us from our fellow mall goers. After I playfully punched him in the arm, we went out the closest entrance.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Wow, life sure was moving fast since I got here. But I guess I trust this Vercetti guy. Even though he seems like he has homocidal tendencies, I still trust him.

- - - - - - - - -

End Chapter 


	7. Everybody's Working

- - - - - - - - - - 

Author's Notes: I don't mean to be a stickler but I NEED SOME DAMN REVIEWS! I think it's somewhat unfair for you to have read the story this far without so much as "nice job" or "you should work on your grammar". But whatever, I'm still gonna finish this story. (PS) I'm trying to make this story with a little more detail so bear with me if I overdo it.

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Chapter 7: Everbody's Working For The Weekend

After just coming back from the mall, the pharmacy store, the corner store and "Cuffs and Collars" to get me some sophisticated clothes, we were now on our way back...home? We're listening to the radio while speeding through traffic.

"Everybody's working for the weekend..." sings the 80s popstar. I listen closely to hear Mr. Vercetti humming along with the radio. I turn to him.

"Are you...humming?" I ask. He glances at me once then back at the road.

"What, kid? It's a classic!" he smiles.

"Well, I'm changing the station..." I say and reach for the knob on the radio.

"Hey, hey, heyyyyyyyy!" Mr. Vercetti yells in protest but I ignore him.

"This is Oliver 'Ladykiller' Biscuit and you are listening to...The FEVER." says the DJ in a Barry White like voice. Then one of my favorite songs comes on. ''Behind the Groove" by Teena Marie.

"Shake your body, shake your body, shake your body, shake!" I sing along with Teena.

"Ehhh I don't think so..." Mr. Vercetti changes the station to a talk radio station.

"Give us ten percent of your income. That's all we ask..." says a man with a patronizing radio voice.

"Oh, these guys are hilarious. They try to guilt you into donating money to their crappy station." Mr. Vercetti says

"Ten percent is a really small amount..." says a female. I sigh loudly in boredom.

"I remember when I was volunteering in Central America; to make myself appear less shallow, the native peoples would give you ten percent of their land for a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and they would run around me saying, 'chicle! chicle!', which is Espanol for 'pretty woman'..."

I chuckled to myself, slumped in my seat.

"Whats so funny, kid?" Vercetti glances at me again.

" 'Chicle' is actually Spanish for 'chewing gum'." he starts chuckling too and soon enough we're in an uproar of laughter in the car. It suddenly stops in front of a massive stoop.

"We're here, kid." he says. I step out and in front of me are not only many groups each with 5 or so men wearing very ugly shirts, there is a very huge Spanish-style mansion.

"Wow..." I say then pointing my thumb to one of the groups of ugly-shirt guys. "Who are they and why are they wearing those hideous shirts? Didn't those go out of style when I was like...six?"

"For your information, kid...Every powerful crimelord needs his or her own assortment of goons who'll do your grunt work and they just happen to be mine"  
he pauses "And whaddaya mean by 'ugly'? I used to have one just like it but Ken managed to steal it from my closet and burn it." He's talking but I'm just laughing.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

We enter the house and inside, all of the walls follow a tranquil and peaceful color scheme of light blue and sea green. There are elegant tapestries on the walls and mod-like stage lights in the 35 foot cieling that give it a humble look. The carpet is navy blue and is plush even under my crappy tennis shoes. We head up the stairs, through a long pizza box-strewn corridor and into another room.

"Wow, cute room!" I exclaim.

This room is large and a perfect symmetrical square and is adorned with a long 6-drawer dresser, a tall 4-drawer dresser, a short 2-shelf bookcase holding a VCR with a small 20 inch television sitting on top, a queen-sized iron canopy bed and a nice, simple nightstand next to it. All of the furniture is simplistic and has a distinguished white finish. The walls are lavender and have a simple violet border on the tops of the walls. The carpet is also violet. I look in the corner to see a huge walk-in closet with two clothes racks on both sides full of plastic hangers. And in the other corner is a small, basic bathroom with a tub with a lavender shower curtain, a small violet rug, shower, toilet, sink and a mirror-cabinet.

"I'm glad ya like it, kid because this is your room. As much as I HATE these colors, I gotta admit, it suits you kid." He says. "I got it done for ya while we were out all day. I have a friend in real-estate whose wife happens to be an interior desi--" I interrupt him by squeezing him in another grateful bear-hug, one of my swinging shopping bags using it's momentum to hit him in the back of his head.. Mr. Vercetti struggles but fails to escape my grip. Finally, I loosen up and he puts his hands on my shoulders.

"Okay, I get it, you're welcome. Now get ready, kid. We have a date at the Malibu Club." he says. "There are plenty of towels in the bathroom, make sure your perfume is modest and try to look presentable, kid." he walks out, shutting the door behind him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The first thing I did before taking a shower was putting away and at the same time admiring all of the clothes I could only dream to own while my parents were supporting me on their incomes. I had genuine polo and classic tshirts and jeans from the Gash, comfy velour sweatsuits, tons of costume jewelry, leg warmers, all of the best. I bought a few designer clothes but only those few so I wouldn't spend all of my money in extravagance. Lucky there were shelves above the clothing racks in my closet because I had also bought plenty of trendy shoes. Low-heeled loafers, wedge pumps, Adidas shelltoes, Chuck Taylor Converses in an assortment of colors and more stilletos than I'd ever wear.

After hanging up all of my clothes and putting away all of the pajamas, socks and underwear into the drawers, I also unpacked the more...unmentionable essentials into my just-enough-space bathroom. I had bought various smell-good lotions, shower gels, cosmetics, hair products, soaps and of course not forgetting the "muff plugs" as Mr. Vercetti called them. I took one of the fluffy towels resting on the back of the cushioned toilet along with a matching wash rag and turned on the shower.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(later: 9:30pm)

"C'mon, kid!" I hear Mr. Vercetti yell from the lobby of the mansion. "In a minute!" I shouted back, politely of course. I pranced around listening to my Michael Jackson tape and singing. I took a final look at myself in the full length mirror provided in that endless cave of a closet and exited my room.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

TOMMY'S P.O.V. "Hurry up!" I shout. Damn, I didn't think women started taking forever getting ready to go out until they were at least in their twenties. I was looking alright, I guess. I wanted to throw on a plain shirt and jeans and call it a day. I mean, c'mon, who was I trying to impress? A bunch of pricks who kiss my ass on a regular basis? Yeah, right. But of course, Paul being...him, persuaded me to wear that Soiree suit custom-made for me from Raphael's.

I checked my watch in annoyance waiting on the kid when I see her standing at the top of the stairs. I couldn't see what she was wearing being that the stairs were so steep. She walked down the stairs and somehow, time just seemed to...slow down. After what seemed like fifteen minutes of slo-mo, her feet had finally reached the floor. "Okay, how do I look?" she asked. She had on a strapless classic cheetah-printed dress that came at almost mid-thigh, black sheer stockings which had added length to her legs, and pointy black heel-toe stilleto shoes that had made her exactly my height if not taller. She was also wearing a flat, thin gold chain around the base of her neck and had simple gold hoop earrings on. Her jet-black hair was still down but it was wavy and stylishly messy. She had a small amount of black eyeliner and mascara on which had accentuated her already huge and dark eyes.. She wore no lipstick, however, she did have on some clear lip gloss.

"Um..." she said as I was just staring at her. I wanted to say that she did indeed look presentable. However, I also wanted to calmly tell her that she looked very...mature. Too mature in fact, was she trying to get raped tonight or something?

"I said look 'presentable' kid, not fucking twice your age!" I shouted. She flinched in shock.

"But I AM presentable. Maybe it's just my height that makes me look older..." she looked over herself.

"Or maybe it's just that cat wrapped around your body, those damn pin-pointy shoes and all the hairspray that makes you look old enough to be my wife!"

"Ohhh no, I could never look THAT old!" she shouted back and started pointing her finger and rolling her neck "I didn't wanna dress like a little 'kid' as you always say I am! If I would've thrown on a torn tshirt and a headband would you have yelled at me like you are now!" I stood there, amazed. That girl indeed had moxy and she also had a point. it would be better for her to look like a woman than a girl in this situation. And did she just call me "old"? I'm only thirty-six, dammit!

"Whatever, let's go!" I said and waved my arm.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Outside, we climbed down the stairs. Hoo boy, I'm gettin' to old for this shit. What the hell did Diaz have all of these stairs built for anyway! That fat fuck probably had one of his stupid minions carry his ass up the stairs. I chuckled to myself when I had gotten a mental picture. The kid's standing by the Infernus still steamed and waiting for me to open the door. "We're not taking that car tonight, kid. We're going in style to make a bit of an entrance." I said and pointed to the stretch limo nearby. And check this, the kid's face suddenly lights up like a wreath on Christmas Eve. She squeals and claps her hands and shuffles to the back door of the limo. I see another group of my gang nearby just standing there. Lazy bastards...

"YOU DID WHAT!" one of them says

"Mario, I never liked your sister!" another one says. I point to him.

"You. Drive. Malibu. Now." I say and walk away to the limo.

Me and the kid open the doors and climb in waiting for whoever it was I had pointed at to start the car and drive. Meanwhile, the kid's just so excited, she sprawls out on the backseat and inhales the scent of the 'new' car.

"Hey kid." I say to her. She flashes me a grumpy 'What do you want now, dammit' look.

"Listen, I ain't mean to yell like that...again. You actually look nice tonight." she hangs her head down and huffs a bit.

"In fact, you look so nice, I finally thought up a name for you, kid." her head rises and she shows a half a grin.

"I'm going to call you...Moda." I said. Her smile vanishes.

"Moe-duh? What kind of name is that!" she exclaims

"Calm down! 'Moda' is an excellent name! It actually means 'style' and let's just say, I like yours kid." I smile.

"I guess that's okay then." she folds her arms, crosses one 2-yard leg over the other then stares out the tinted window. The gang member finally comes in and starts the car.

End Chapter

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	8. Meet My Friends

- - - - - - - - - - 

Chapter 8: Meet My Friends

Tommy's P.O.V.

"And now back to 'Pressing Issues' with me, your favorite radio-show host: Maurice Chavez. We've recently heard in the news and read in the papers about the jet that had crashed into the police station Downtown." says that prick on the radio.

"Hey, turn this up!" I demand the driver.

"Word is that unfortunately, there were no survivors. The plane was suspected to be hijacked by American terrorists who had entered the cockpit and rearranged the route of the plane. Thus, causing the dreadful collision which by the way had somehow caused the firetruck at the station across the street to engulf in flames...Hahaha, talk about ironic."

I shake my head in pity and turn my attention to the kid who has her mouth covered and her big eyes filled with tears. She puts her head in her hands and sobs softly. Not 100 percent sure of what to do, I crawl over to her seat and sit with her.

"Ma...Daddy...they're gone..." she hiccups in between crying "I can't...believe..." she start sobbing again and rests her head in my chest. Hesitating to touch her, I put one arm around her shoulders and pat her on the back.

"Um...there, there kid...It's okay." She takes a tissue from a microscopic cluth purse she had had hidden all this time and wipes her face with it, smudging her eyeliner. "Heh heh..." I chuckle under my breath. "Clean yourself up, ya little racoon. We're here." she perks up a little and successfully reapplies her makeup.

I step out the limousine first and courteously offer my hand to take hers. She grabs it and gracefully, like a supermodel, steps out of the limo. As she cat-walked into the doors of the club, I could hear several unappropiate comments from the passers-by.

"Whoooo, baby got back!"

"Hey legs! Ya wanna walk wit' me?"

"Yo sexy!"

Fed up with the verbal harrassing of my surrogate "child" I took out my .357 Magnum (aka, the "one hitter quitter") and fired at the losers. Intentionally missing them by an inch on the sides of their heads.

"Oh shit, it's Vercetti!"

They took off sprinting as did I when I saw a cop nearby.

- - - - - - - - - -

(Inside the Malibu)

Moda's P.O.V.

Well, now my name is Moda. It sounds kind of wierd. I felt proud of myself for talking back to Mr. Vercetti but I won't do this all the time because he IS after all the most powerful man in the city. I stepped into the club and slowly sashayed around the dance floor towards the bar effectively making my way through the construction workers, gang members and business people who had come to relax.

Approaching the bar I noticed a tall woman with hardly any clothes on as the bartender. She had on a white cowboy hat, a white lace g-string and white star-shaped pasties covering her nipples. Eww. She was very pretty in the face. She had full cherry-red lips, grey almond-shaped eyes and long chestnut brown hair reaching past her shoulders. She was too busy wiping down the table with a washcloth to notice me.

"Hi!" I said cheerfully to make myself known that I was there.

"Hey, what's your poison, sweets?" she asked without even looking up. Seeing that Mr. Vercetti wasn't around, I used this moment to my advantage.

"Um yes..." I said in my most sophisticated voice "I'll have a Bacardi Hurricane with---"

"She'll have a Sprite, Diane. Send it upstairs." says a familiar irritated voice from behind me. It's Mr. Vercetti who has caught me just at the right damn time! He looks at me and sneers.

"I turn my back for one second, kid!" He says grabbing me tight by my arm and pulling me to the upstairs part of the club.

- - - - - - - - - -

(upstairs)

Upstairs it's really nice. It's small but...nice. It has a luxurious leather couch, a minibar, and a small table with chairs. At the table, sitting at the chairs is the lawyer from earlier today, a hefty balding Cuban man, a husky southerner, and a man with an...interesting patterned shirt and a hairstyle which looks like a mullet gone wrong.

"Oy, Oy! Tommy! There ya are, mate!" Mutant Mullet says with a British accent, getting up and hugging Tommy with much enthusiasm. "We ARE still mates...roight?" he asks. Tommy pushes him away.

"And WHO is this, ey'?" he says pushing Tommy out the way to get a good look at me. "Why you're a fine bird, you are...What's your name, sunshine?" (please note that I have never written in British before)

"My name is Ch--" I start to say.

"Her name's Moda." Vercetti says to the Mullet then looks at me and nods slightly.

"Moda, eh? Well 'Moda', you know I manage 'Love Fist', roight?" he says inching closer to me looking up an down.

"Who?" I ask

"You've never heard of 'Love Fist'! Don't you listen to VRock, baby?"

"She just flew in, Paul! She's...from out of town." Mr. Vercetti says. "Now siddown and shut up!"

"Alroight, alroight, no need to get off your nutta'! I'm not some div, mate!" he plops back down in his chair.

"Hey, Tommy...nice suit!" Ken compliments Mr. Vercetti on his periwinkle blue suit with the three quarter sleeves.

"I guess. I don't feel nice WEARING it..." he shrugs.

"And how are we, Miss America?" he says to me. I just nod, smile a little and take a seat on the couch. I try to piss Mr. Vercetti off by lounging in a somewhat provacative pose with my legs cross. Ken approached Mr. Vercetti and whispers to him. I could still hear, though.

"Is THAT the same kid that I saw this afternoon or is it just the after-effect of the coke?"

"Yeah, that's her." Mr. Vercetti replies, clearly audible.

"I don't mean to sound cliche' but, you let her out the house like that! She looks...desireable!"

"Listen, I'm not exactly her father so I don't need to hear this shit." he whispers "Now let's get down to business!" he shouts so the entire room can hear. "You come over here too, kid." he motions me to sit at the table.

"Everyone, this is Moda...my guest" he said as I sat down. "Moda, this is Umberto Robina of the Cubans in Little Havana..." he pointed to the balding man "this tea-sipping yutz is Kent Paul..." he points to the Mullet who frowns in sarcasm "this is real-estate tycoon, Avery Carrington..." he points to the southerner wearing a cowboy hat and vest who tips it and nods "and you've already met Mr. Rosenberg." . Tommy then takes his seat at the head of the table.

"So what's the agenda tonight, fellas?" he asks.

"Tommy, you gotta do something about those Haitians!" raved Umberto "I HATE those Haitians! Always hanging around my cafe', and harrassing my women..." he continued to rant in his thick Spanish accent. "You gotta take care of this, homes!"

"Why? Don't you have a whole gang?" asked Carrington.

"Anything IMPORTANT on the agenda tonight? No? Well, there's been the matter of..." says Tommy who trails off into business-talk.

"Hey chica..." Umberto says whispering to me. "I have a nephew, Pepe...He's a few years older than you. You like a good man, huh? You like a man with biiiig cojones? Then you want a Cuban man, chica."

"Robina, shut up." Tommy heard him. No, she doesn't want a Cuban man. And she damn sure doesn't need ANY kind of cojones at the moment let alone Pepe's. Now..." he goes back to business.

"He--he's just lucky he has reeeeeeally big cojones or I'd have to cut his freaking dick off!" Umberto whispers again. Tommy flashed him a look but kept on talking.

"Everybody got that? I want everyone to pitch in and protect this kid! Don't let ANYTHING happen to her. Make sure you know who she's with, what stores she walks into, EVERYTHING." Tommy shouts. "And Robina, although I highly doubt she's gonna be anywhere on the other side of Vice City, I suggest you and your fellow Cubes still keep one eye on her."

Everyone nods in agreement.

"Meeting ajourned." Vercetti says.

"Wh-wh-whaaaaat? We just got here and you're kicking us out, mate?" Kent complains and Vercetti grabs a fistful of his collar.

"I said 'meeting ajourned'." he forcibly lets go of Ken and exits the room with me trailing behind.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(at home: about 10:15pm)

TOMMY'S P.O.V.

On the short 10 minute ride back to the house, I not only made a plan to make myself clear to certain people the first time but I also observed the kid as she got sleepy and dozed off. Look at her, her head's smack dab against the window and her mouth is wide open with a little drool comin' out. She looks kinda cute all asleepin' and such. The driver stops the car and we're home.

"Yo kid, kid..." I gently smack her on the arm with the back of my hand.

"Mmmmm..." she groans.

Now normally, I would've ditched anyone who'd've fell asleep in my car but I guess in a way, I've always wanted to do this. I got out the car, leaving the door open. Looking around suspiciously, I lifted the 6-foot-with-heels kid into my arms and used the rest of my day's energy carrying her up the front stairs. She felt to be about 130, 145 pounds so she wasn't too heavy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Moda's P.O.V.

The last thing I remember before dozing off in the limousine on the way back was meeting three of Tommy's "acquaintances" then stumbling out of his nightclub, feet aching. Never again will I wear those damn shoes. But anyways, I was enjoying a pleasant little cat-nap when I felt a crash and a throbbing pain on my lower-back and legs. I flashed my eyes open to see myself on the floor of the mansion with Mr. Vercetti above me, panting.

"W-what the hell!" I blurted out unintentionally.

"Sorry kid...You started to get a little heavy...And I had forgot to eat my wheaties this morning..." he wheezed.

"C'mon old man, I'll help you upstairs." I got up and tried to get Mr. Vercetti into a proper composure.

"Nah...I'm fine. You just go to bed, kid. You've had a long day." he said. I shrugged my shoulders, removed my shoes and headed to my new bedroom carrying them in my fingers.

In my bedroom, I immediately flopped down stomach-side up onto my new bed. It had a white with purple and blue polka-dots bedding set. I nudged my face into my pillow and got comfotable. I didn't even bother to remove my makeup or my party clothes. As I lay there on the brink of falling asleep, I pondered some questions...

Ma, are you and Pa really watching over me?

Why this 'Vercetti' guy?

What does he want with me and why is he spoiling me like this, I've only known him for one day...

Why does he seem to care so much about me?

Why...?

I'll ask him tomorrow...

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	9. Because I Can!

- - - - - - - - - -

Chapter 9: Because I Can!

Tommy's P.O.V.

After Moda went to her room, I straightened my back and headed to my home office. I sat at my desk resting my feet on it and reclining in my swivel chair, thinking. Then the phone rang. I was prepared to curse out the shithead who had disturbed my deep thought...

"Yeah..." I answered lazily but with attitude.

"Hey Tom, it's Rosenberg..." he said, sniffing between sentence.

"sigh, whaddaya WANT Ken?" I rolled my eyes.

"Listen, are you really serious about keeping the kid?" he asked.

"What do you mean 'am I serious', of course I'm serious!" I shouted.

"I mean, it's just that...Well, WHY Tommy? Ain't she gonna get in the way of business?"

"Because I can!" I screamed then lower my voice as to not waken Moda "Listen, Ken...I'm not sure exactly WHY I'm keeping her but I can't turn her away...She's a fuckin' plane-crash survivor!"

"Sure you could! I mean, she's just...some kid, you hardly even KNOW her yet you're taking her shopping, and introducing her to the folks, got her her own bedroom all painted and furnished, what's the deal with that, Tommy?"

"It's just that...It's just..." I stammered.

"Ohhhhh...I get it. It's about Mercedes ain't it?" he said softly. Dammit, that lawyer always did know how to hit the nail on the head.

"Man, I'll talk to you tomorrow, Ken..." I said and slammed the phone down on the reciever.

I mean, he was right. This had a lot to do with Mercedes. Ever since she "killed" OUR child, I've had this big void in me. When I first met her, I did think she was cute. Then, shortly after the takeover and the departure of her father, Colonel Cortez, we had started talking more and seeing more of each other then boom! She up and told me she was pregnant. It had happened THAT fast. As much as I didn't show it, I was overwhelmed with joy. I had always wanted a kid. Someone who I could teach the game to so they could run this joint after my time and make me proud.

Next thing I know, she called me a few weeks later saying she "couldn't deal with the pressure of raising a child" so she had an abortion done behind my back. I felt sick to my stomach. I would've loved that kid. As for Mercedes, instead of having her killed, I showed her some mercy and just told her to stay the hell away from me, my people and my business.

Basically, I guess I'm keeping the kid to make up for Mercede's stupid mistake, and so she can be the cement to fill that void. I know it's only been one day but I sense that I could shape her into my image. Even though I've always wanted a SON, I guess this'll work. The way I see it, this is a sign. Check it, a kid falls out of the sky, nowhere to go, and comes to ME. It's like a power has already granted me a kid except all of the hard work's been done for me, right?

So yes. I'm keeping her. Maybe sometime this month, if I truly grow attatched to the kid (I've already named her, anyways), I can get Ken to put together some adoption papers to make this official.

End Chap. 9

- - - - - -- - - - - - - -

I know I'm moving kinda fast with the plot but, hey. I don't wanna end up stretching this entire story to like...20+ chapters or anything. And please note that I didn't put much thought or effort into this chapter. I just needed a quick way to sum up this point of the story.

R & R. 


	10. Ninety Percent Mental

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Chapter 10: Ninety-Percent Mental 

(next morning: 7:45am) 

Moda's P.O.V. 

I was in the middle of some more good sleep when I felt my body being rattled about and felt some drops of liquid being sprayed on my face. I opened my eyes to see Mr. Vercetti sitting on my bed holding a cup of water. 

"Wake up, kid!" he whispered loudly still splashing the water in my face. 

"Huh! I'm up! I'm awake!" I shout and he stops. "Christ! It's still early, Mr. Vercetti!" I pull the covers over my head. 

"C'mon, kid!" he says in a bold, optimistic voice and snatches the covers off the bed exposing me curled up in the fetus posistion still wearing the clothes from yesterday. "We're going drivin' today!" 

My eyes perk up and I sit up in the bed. "Really? You're gonna teach me how to drive!" I squeal. 

"Yep, now...go change, kid...You look like a two dollar crack whore." he said giving me a disgusted look. I rolled my eyes and jokingly pushed him out my room. 

- - - - - - - - - - 

I took a shower, caring more about cleanliness than fragrance so I just used some regular soap. I stepped out, wearing only my bath towel wrapped around my skinny body and went into the closet to find something to wear. Seeing as how we weren't going anywhere special today, I put on a simple, thin, black velour sweatsuit with a wifebeater underneath. I also put on my white shelltoe Adida's with black stripes. 

Just so I wouldn't feel naked, I put on some small, silver hoop earrings and styled my hair into a simple low ponytail. I didn't bothered with makeup. I rushed downstairs to the lobby to meet Vercetti to find him...to find ourselves...in a compromising posistion. 

"You gotta be shittin' me, kid." he said with his jaw dropped as he stared at me. We were both wearing the same thing. We both wore black velour sweatsuits and Adidas shelltoes. 

"Well, ONE of us has to change..." I stood with my arms crossed. 

"I ain't changin, kid! I'm Tommy Vercetti!" he said. I rolled my eyes and walked out the door past him. At the bottom of the stairs, I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. 

"So what are we drivin' today, Tommy?" I grinned, wondering what awesome car we were going to ride in. 

"We are gonna drive..." he pressed a button on his keychain which opened a garage door. He pressed another button, disabling the alarm on a very average looking car. My smile fell. "This!" he pointed to a royal blue Admiral. 

"THAT?" I asked. "A dinky ADMIRAL?" 

"Listen, you gotta crawl before you walk. So just think of it as a 'crawl' car. Now get in." he said and stepped into the car to start it. I shrugged my shoulders and got in as well. I sat in the passenher's seat with my arms folded, looking out the window as Mr. Vercetti backed out the driveway. He ended up running over one of his minions in the process by "accident". Alarmed, I shouted. 

"STOP THE CAR!" I said. The vehicle came to a pretty abrupt stop for it to be going so slow. I ended up hitting my head against the dashboard. Dazed, I sat back up. 

"What's the problem!" Mr. Vercetti yelled. 

"Uh...You just RAN OVER somebody!" I said with sarcasm and jumped out the car and bent over to get a closer look at the groaning victim.. "Somebody call, nine-one-one!" I shouted. Mr. Vercetti got out the car and grabbed my arm. 

"You want the whole of Starfish Island to hear you, genius!" 

"This man is HURT! Don't just stand there! Get some help!" 

"I'm...okay..." said the man. 

"See? He's...fine!" Tommy says in assurance (A/N: not sure if that's a word) 

"Does that look FINE to you! He has fucking...tire marks all over his shirt!" I cursed with tears streaming down my cheek. "And I'm pretty sure that God didn't will legs to bend that way!" Mr. Vercetti quickly takes out his cell phone and dials the nearest hospital. 

"Hey Mike, we got a hit-and-run...My house." he says unenthusiastically then hangs up. "See? Everything's...peachy!" 

"You almost killed someone! Oh my God..." I said sobbing hysterically and hyperventilating. Mr. Vercetti plants his hands on my shoulders firmly while I try to catch my breath. 

"Moda! Moda! Moda, calm down! Geez!" he shouts trying to get me to stop crying. After about 3 minutes, I regain my composure. 

"Ya calm, kid?" He says casually sitting on the hood of the car as the paramedics (who had arrived amazingly fast) carried the poor man on a stretcher into the ambulance. 

"I-I-I'm...fi-fi-fine..." I stammer. (A/N: note that I am trying to simulate the effect in real life when you finish crying and can't breathe. Like when you got a whoopin as a child and couldn't breath easily). 

"Good then let's go...Christ!" he throws his hands in the air and jumps in the car. "Drama Queen..." I heard him mumble just before he got in. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

As we were crossing the bridge to town, I reached to turn on the radio to calm my frazzled nerves only to have Mr. Vercetti slap my hand away. 

"Ow!" I pull my hand back. "Why? Why, Mr. Vercetti, why!" I exclaim. 

"No music. You need to concentrate." He says with his eyes on the road, speeding through red lights. "Driving like a maniac takes a lot of concentration. It's ninety percent mental, kid. If there's anything you need to know while staying in Vice City is how to drive like a lunatic, or a fugitive, take your pick." 

I listen to him preach. 

"As you're running from the cops, you need to learn that getting away is not only about speed but..." he yanks the steering wheel, forcing the car to make a sharp left and forcing my body to make a sharp left as well. 

"Aaaah!" I scream a the car does a two-wheelie then sets back down. 

"...control." Mr. Vercetti says, still calm and looking at the road. He pulls over to the driveway of a hotel. "Your turn, kid." He gets out the car and I scootch over into the driver's seat. He opens the door and gets in. "Show me what you know, kid." 

Now I was a little more nervous. I didn't know squat about driving. I didn't even go to driving school yet. Sure, my mom had let me back the car in and out the driveway a few times but... 

"I...can't! I don't..." I stuttered. 

"Just...shift the gear into drive." He instructed calmly. I did so. "Now...GO." he said reclining in the passenger seat with his hands behind his head as if to mock me. I gently applied the pressure of my foot to the pedal and eased out of the driveway. I drove down the road past Mr. Vercetti's nightclub going almost 10 miles per hour. 

"What the fuck IS this, kid! I've seen people waiting in LINE go faster than you!" he commented 

"Shaddup! I'm trying to be safe, here!" I said leaning forward with both hands on the steering wheel. Mr. Vercetti sighs. 

"Moda, stop the car." he says. Frustrated, I hit the brakes and park the car. 

"Move that piece of shit!" shouts someone from behind us. 

"SHUT UP, PRICK! CAN'T YOU SEE WE'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF A LESSON, HERE!" I poke my head out the window and shout. The offender quickly makes a u-turn. 

"Calm down! Look at you! You're all red in the face, Moda! Ya look like a...a tomato!" Mr. Vercetti tried to calm me down. "Here, get out the car right quick..." he said. I opened the door and got out the car. Behind us here were at least 4 cars all lined up and honking at us. Still needing to let ooff some steam, I flipped the bird at any driver who could see me. I grinned on the inside. I looked at Mr. Vercetti who had reclined the driver's seat all the way back and was laying in it. 

"Get in!" he said. I ran around to the passenger seat. "No...get in over here!" he said. I shot him a blank look. 

"Pfft! What, do you want me to sit on your lap or something?" I asked sarcastically. 

"Bingo, now get in! I told myself I wasn't going to shoot anyone today and that honking's getting on my last damn nerve so get in." he commanded. 

I walked back to the drivers side and managed to cram myself into the driver's seat. I was sitting on Mr. Vercetti's lap with the top of my head against the roof of the car. Talk about uncomfortable... 

"Geez, Moda! Ever hear of Jane Fonda!" he strained under me. 

"Whaddaya mean? I'm only 138 pounds!" 

"Yeah, and fifty of it is crushing my femur!" (A/N: if I remember correctly, the 'femur' is the bone in your thigh, right?) 

"Are you trying to say I have a huge butt!" I yelled. 

"Whatever, kid!" I hear the engine rev. I look down and see Mr. Vercetti's foot on the gas pedal. He applies pressure to it and we're on the move again. 

"Huh! What are you doing? What am I s'posed to do?" I asked in a panic. 

"Just steer, kid! You're learning CONTROL. Ninety-percent mental!" he said. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Back at the house 

(about 6:00pm) 

After a hard morning's work of "driving like a lunatic", we are finally home. I thought driving was just about road signs, speed limits, and traffic lines but apparently that's not all it's about in Tommy's Driving School. After the "control" lesson, we drove around the whole of Vice City until I somewhat memorized it. He also taught me how to swerve through traffic, park, make donuts on the pavement, and off the pavement, and jump out of a car before explosion (of course the car wasn't really on fire). Eventually we had gotten hungry so we stopped in the mall and he treated me to an Orange Julius (A/N: very delicious orange-cream drink and still exists if you didn't know). 

Of course, some lessons needed faster, more efficient cars so Tommy had also crammed in a very, very quick lesson on "borrowing" stranger's cars. I asked him why he didn't just drive back to the house seeing as how he had a white Infermus still in the driveway (A/N: I know he doesn't have a driveway per-se but just work with me, people). He claimed he was "feeling lazy" and that I "needed another lesson". So now I also know how to hijack a car in broad daylight! But overall, this was fun. 

I, that's right I, pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. Mr. Vercetti stumbled out of the passenger seat and almost collapsed on the front stairs. 

"You...ya did well, kid. I'm proud of you!" he panted. 

"Well, thanks! I did learn from the best." I pointed at him. 

"Oh p'shaw and pish..." he said, playing along. We both laughed. (A/N: can you guess where I got that line from?) We walked up the stairs and into the house shoulder-to-shoulder like old pals. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

NON-NARRATIVE MODE 

Across the street from the Vercetti estate there was a parked, gray Sentinel. Next to the Sentinel was a tall, rigid palm tree. Suddenly, a figure had fallen from the tree next to the car. The figure had landed on her feet. Standing up, she regained her composure and dusted herself off. Around her neck there was a lanyard with a high-definition camera on it. She held the camera to her chest. 

"Best investment I've ever made." she whispered to it. "Your defenses are getting weak, Tommy. Especially with your new :girlfriend: around" she spoke to herself, getting in her car and driving off into the distance. 

End Chapter 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

I think this is one of the more "cutesy" chapters in the story. The last paragraph I didn't mean for it to sound all story-bookish like that "there was a dark...dark...house" ghost story. I thought the driving lesson skit would be fun to write and hilarious to read and imagine. Especially the part when dude got ran over. 

Oh and please make a mental note that for some reason, certain characters (on the keyboard) that I use while editing the chapters won't show up in the actual viewing of the story so it may look a little weird. Things like asteriks, and brackets and so on won't show up for me so I may use other things to add emphasis like :this: or +this+ or maybe even #this# just so it doesn't look likethis (that was an example, not a typo). But just make a note of that, okay? Thanks! 

Speaking of thanks, thank you SOOO much for the reviews. I am really, really grateful and I hope you will continue reading (or read the previous chapters again and review em' all...just kidding! but not really...)! Thanks again! 


	11. Go Collect Your Winnings

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Chapter 11: Go Collect Your Winnings

(still regular, non-narrative mode)

(Pole Posistion Club: 9:26pm)

"Hey Ferrari!" shouts a girl to one of her fellow dancers. "The next batch of photos are here!"

Approaching the shouting dancer was a young woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She stood 5''10 wearing her 4-inch platform-heeled shoes. She had on a tight, navy-blue, corset that laced up the middle. She was also wearing a black, shiny micro-mini-skirt and was wearing black honeycomb fishnet stockings. Her shoes had a closed toe and heel and were royal blue in color.

She had long, straight, platinum-blonde hair that reached the small of her back and had bangs that covered one side of her face. She had slanted, eerie blue eyes and had a set of full, cherry-red lips. While her hips were rather small, she had a huge chest which nearly spilled out of her corset top.

"Ooh, give em' here..." she held out her fingers which had 2-inch artificial nails on them. She used them to carefully sort out the photos. Most of them being close-ups of Tommy in his many phases during the week. She came to a picture of Tommy and Moda in their matching sweatsuits, walking into the house, smiling. She gasped in shock. "Whoooooo! Who is THIS bitch!" she shouted.

"It's Vercetti's new squeeze...supposedly." said her shorter cohort. "They've been paintin' the town red. He got her hundreds of dollars worth of clothes and she's even living with him in his mansion on Starfish Island!"

Ferrari, in frustration pulled her bangs and a small clump had come out into her palm.

"Shit!" she cursed quietly to herself. She reached into the elastic of her mini skirt and pulled out some fifty-dollar bills and placed them into her friend's hand. "Keep up the good work. I'm frustrated but not as much as my cousin will be when she hears about this slut!"she said and walked away.

'Slut? Hypocrit...' the other female thought.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

In the house (around the same time)

"Yo, Moda!" Tommy shouted from the bottom of the stairs in the mansion.

"Yeah?" she asked, running down the stairs. She had removed her jacket revealing her small upper-body. She looked at Tommy who had changed into some dirty-wash jeans and a blue, tacky Hawaiian shirt. She cringed.

"What?" he asked.

"Where'd you get THAT?" she asked, pointing at his shirt.

"I always keep spares, kid. " He grinned. "Well, I'm gonna make my runs. You wanna go?" he asked.

"Not really...I wias watching TV and my program'sabout to start and--"

"Good. Now get in the car." he said and walked out the door leaving it wide open. Moda just stood there. "Hurry up!" he yelled from outside. Defeated, Moda sighed, ran outside and joined him in the white Infernus.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

(first stop: "Ice Cream" Factory)

"Where are we going first? This better be good, because I'm missing 'Circus Of The Stars' for this!" Moda asked.

"Shut up, kid. We're here." Tommy said and parked the car outside a wide, gray building with an open garrage door surrounded by the Vercetti Gang. Across the street were three really dark-skinned men with white pants and indigo shirts on.

"Who are they?" Moda pointed across the street. Tommy turned around and his eyes widened.

"Hey! 'Dere he go, mon!" one of the purple-clad men said.

"...Those damn Haitians!" (A/N: not meaning to sound racist, sorry) Tommy cursed. "Hey! Get off your asses and shoot!" he instructed his gang.

"Crap!" one of them said "And I just lit this damn cigarrette..." he snubbed his smoke on the ground with his foot.

The Haitians came running from across the street and took out their Colt 45 pistols and proceeded to shoot. However, they were no match for Vercetti's Spaz shotgun orhis army's Uzi's so they were quickly dispersed. About six more came running towards the Ice Cream factory from down the street. Moda, still shocked and not knowing what to do, was frozen stiff and almost in the middle of the gunfire.

"Hey, who's the girl?" One of gang members asked another one while shooting. "Well, whoever she is, she's gonna get shot if she don't move out the way..." Tommy, hearing this, finally spotted Moda with a Haitian nearby.

"Kid! KID! Get out the way!" Tommy shouted to Moda but she was so nervous, she couldn't move. He dropped his shotgun and ran towards her. Time seemed to slow down as the Haitian pulled out his gun and aimed it at Moda. Vercetti tackled Moda by the waist and pushed her into the factory's garage. Feeling brave, Tommy, unarmed, tackled the Haitian, wrestled the gun from him and used it to shoot him in the head. The short battle was over.

Tommy, somewhat exhausted, raised from the ground and dusted himself off.

"Nice work fellas..." he said. "Go collect your winnings." He pointed to the scattered, dead, Haitian gang bodies. The fellas shouted 'Hooray' and circled over the bodies like vultures, collecting any money and weapons they had on them. Tommy walked inside the garage to see Moda, still on the ground, eyes closed and her skin a lighter shade of brown.

"Moda..." he called out to her, gently tapping her leg with the tip of his shoe. "Moda!" he shouted. She didn't respond. He knelt down to her and sat her upright. He gently slapped her on her cheeks until her eyes slowly opened.

"What just happened?" she said slowly.

"Ya just survived your first shootout, kid." Vercetti smirked. "Just barely I mean you were out in the open and I was like 'get out the way!' and you were just paralyzed and..."

"Um...what IS that?" she interrupted Vercetti and pointed to the various blood stains on his shirt which also had some unidentified pinkish globs on it.

"Huh? Aw-AWWWWWWWWWWWW! I got Haitian all over me!" he cried. He removed his shirt to not only reveal a crisp, white, wifebeater underneath but a silghtly muscular andhairy set of arms.(A/N: i think that's it...). He and Moda walked into the Ice Cream factory crumpling up the Hawaiian shirt and tossing it casually over his shoulder. He closed the garage door (which didn't have the famous Ice Cream truck in it for once) behind them.

- - - - - - - - - -

(inside the factory)

"Hello...Mrs. Psycho-Old-Lady-Ma'am? It's Tommy!" he shouted, listening to his booming voice echo off the walls. Emerging from a doorway was a short, elderly woman with a bad posture. She crept down the stairs, approaching Tommy and Moda.

"Dirty, vile, stinking, wretched..." she muttered.

'Not this bullshit again...' Tommy thought to himself.

"Crying, puking, stupid...CHILD!" she hissed.

"Listen, I'm just here to collect the damn revenue." Tommy held his hand out.

"Yes, I know you are..." she said, pacing the floor. "But WHO is this!" she pointed to Moda.

Tommy sighed and rolled his eyes. "Moda,Crazy Old Lady,Crazy Old Lady, Moda." he quickly said. "Now where's the money?" he asked, trying to keep calm.

"Wait a minute..." she paused and started sniffing Moda. "Hmm...you have the height of an adult but you still have the face and SMELLoff a child!" she snapped.

Moda looked at Tommy as if to say 'who IS this crazy bitch!'. He looked back at her and shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'I know, I know, she's fucking nuts...'

"Can...I...PLEASE...have...the...money?" Tommy asked through clenched teeth and narrowed eyebrows.

"Oh yes, yes, here you go...ya BRAT!" she said while handing him a thick stack of bills. Tommy opened the garage door and walked outside with Moda following him. "Mommy doesn't love you! Ya little shit!" she yelled as they were exiting.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Well...THAT was interesting..." said Moda as she crawled into the Infermus.

"Hmmph..." Tommy scoffed. As he fumbled with his keys he had got a good sight of his window.

"FUCK!" he yelled at the top of his lungs to see that the window of the driver-side door had a bullet hole in it which had added many cracks to it. Angry, he grabbed a baseball bat out the trunk of the Infernus, and ran into the street. Approaching the first vehicle he saw in traffic, he raised the bat above his head and smashed the windshield of the car.

The passenger fled the Landstalker in terror as Tommy continued to smash the windows, hood, bumper, doors, fender, and even the roof of the car in a blind rage. After he was done, he took out his .357 Magnum and shot the tires. Calm and collected once again, he returned to the car, got in and started it.

"Let's go..." he said, panting.

'Psycho? Hypocrit...'Moda thought,a little bugged out but not so suprised.

End Chapter

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Yeah you should've predicted that with Vercetti being so busy with Moda that his "admirers" would get suspicious, and a little jealous. What'dya think? R&R. Oh and for those of you who reviewed, I wanna thank you again! I truly appreciate your comments!

I thought the "I got Haitain all over me" comment was funny. Seriously I apologize if this offends anyone but you know how Tommy and those guys beef in the game so...yeah.

And about the shootout scene, I know some of you are asking "why did Tommy tackle Moda instead of just shooting the guy who was about to kill her?" I thought it would be more dramatic. But yeah, I know it's not my best chapter but hey, it's been some days and I needed to meet my mental deadline.


	12. Take 69

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Chapter 12: Take Sixty Nine

Moda's P.O.V.

After collecting the money from the "Crazy Old Lady", Tommy and I were driving down the Avenue. After about ten minutes, we were back in a part of Vice City that was actually familiar to me. Vercetti carefully drove the car through the gateway of what looked to be a film studio to avoid any more damage to the car.

He parked next to the door of a huge, open, film building and stepped outside. "Stay here." he said. Outside in front of the doorway, Vercetti met with a short, fat, balding man with a lot of facial hair wearing a dingy, powder-blue velour sweatsuit. I made a mental note to myself to not buy a powder-blue variation of my sweatsuit and watched them converse amongst themselves.

The balding man seemed to be telling a story to Tommy from the looks of his extravagant hand gestures. Tommy, either bored or irritated from the story shouted at the man with his hands in the air. The only thing I could make out from his voice and lip movements were "giant shark" but I may have been wrong.

After about fice more minutes of watching them, Tommy looked at me and motioned for me to get out the car. I did so and approached them, stretching my arms.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tommy's P.O.V.

Note to self, Haitain-Proof all of my business assets...

I invited the kid to meet the pompous asshole, Steven Scott. I had told her to stay in the car in case they were...um...filming inside. Luckily, they weren't. Moda walked up to us and offered her hand to Scott. I suppose she was going to introduce herself this time.

"Hello, I'm Moda." she spoke and smiled sweetly to the slimeball. The bangs of her silky black hair all in the way of her eyesight.

"We-heh-LO, 'Moda'. I'm Steve Scott." he replied, taking her hand and attempting to lay a kiss on it. She cringed and snatched her hand away as if he had a disease. Which wouldn't suprise me one bit...

"Who's she?" he asked me. My eyes bugged out as I quickly tried to think of an excuse.

"She...is...actually...um..." I said very slowly to buy myself some time because I didn't wanna blurt out 'oh, she's my daughter...' when she's really not.

"The star of my next film?" he said, hands clasped together. I elbowed him in the gut and he doubled over in pain.

"NO, she's not the star of your next film, asswipe! Now where's the money?" I said.

He wheezed and struggled to reach to hand me the stack of the seven-thousand dollars. I took the money and said "thank you". Moda and I got back into the Infernus.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(Pole Position Club)  
around 10:00pm

"Mr. Vercettieeeee...I'm sleepyyyy..." Moda whined, rubbing her oblong eyes.

"This is the last stop, kid. Now c'mon." I said, stepping out of the car and entering the club.

Inside the club, the lights were brighter, and the atmosphere was smokier. Mitch of course, stopped me as soon as I entered the club to tattle on Andy for "bullying" him. I mean, the bitch is JUST over five feet and he's almost seven. I guess it takes pussy to fight pussy...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Moda's P.O.V.

While Mr. Vercetti was talking to that Kenmore-shaped bouncer of his, I immediately made my way to the bar where Andy was mixing drinks.

"Hey Andy! Ya miss me!" I said cheerily.

"Oh heyyyyyyy gurrrrrrrrl! What's been good?" she asked and gave me a hug over the counter.

"Oh nothin, nothin. Mr. Vercetti's been...taking care of me." I nodded.

"Really? Boss man actually took you in?" she said while cleaning out a class.

"Yep! He fed me, bought me clothes, and showed me this big ol' mansion he got."

Andy nearly dropped the glass she was wiping.

"Are you serious! Boss man NEVER lets anyone in his mansion!"

"Really? You don't say but anyways, he's actually really nice." I grinned.

"Hmmph, you better milk that money train while it's in the station..." she mumbled under her breath. This struck a nerve.

"Ex-CUSE me?" I said in a polite tone but also a tone to let her know I didn't appreciate the comment. She never looked up from her menial task. Brushing off the comment, I spoke again. "Well, he even gave me a name." I smiled. She looked up as if to ask 'What is it?'

"He's calling me 'Moda'." I said.

"Pretty name...Spanish for 'fashion'. Nice!" she smiled, and looked back down. "Listen, I have something to tell you..." she leaned it and whispered to me.

"Huh?" I asked.

"You see that stripper over there?" she pointed at a very tall dancer on a table wearing black and navy blue with long, wispy blonde hair.

"What about her?" I asked. Andy paused, looked around and just said. "Never mind!" I rolled my eyes and took a seat at the bar.

"You want something to drink?" she asked.

"YES...gimme a Bacardi Hurri---" I said and looked over at Mr. Vercetti who was staring right back at me with a 'Don't you dare' kinda face. "I-I mean, a Sprite."

"Okay." she said and gave me a cold, frosty glass containing the delicious, clear, lemon-lime beverage. I took a sip and looked at Mr. Vercett again who was sitting in a booth, surrounded by about three dancers. One of them being the girl that Andy pointed at.

"Come play with us daddy..." said one black-but-light-skinned dancer wearing pink lingerie and pink thigh-high boots. She had her arms wrapped around Tommy's chest and was playing with the neckline of his beater.

"I learned some new moves daddy..." cooed another dancer a little on the heavy side who was wearing black and had pig-tails in her auburn hair. She satarm-in-arm with Tommy.

Blondie, disgusted, stood in front of them with her arms on her hips. "Beat it, you two!" she said. They quickly scrambled from the booth and resumed their 'work'. 'She must be the stereotypical hot shot in every work environment.' I thought. She took Tommy's hand and helped him from the booth.

"Hiya Tommieeee..." she said coyly batting her false eyelashes.

"Yeah, uh, hey Ferrari..." he said brushing off her greeting. "Ya got the money?" he asked with his hand out.

"You know it, daddy." she purred. She suggestively reached into the bosom of her corset and handed Tommy a stack of money. "Four-thousand dollars, just like every other day." she said, playfully waving the money in front of his face. He gently snatched it (A/N: yes, that IS possible to 'gently' snatch something) from her hands and turned the other way.

Ferrari, obviously wanting to keep him around a bit longer, grabbed his arm and pointed at me. 'Uh-oh...' I thought, her cold, blue eyes locking with mine. She forcibly locked her arm with his and strutted towards my direction. They approached me and Andy at the bar. She shuffled further down to the other end, leaving me in an awkward posistion.

"Oh my God..." she said, eyes wide open revealing many, small, red cracks in her eyeballs. "She...is...so...CUTE!" she said, releasing Tommy's arm and attempting to pinch my chubby face. I slowly pulled away from the sight of her long, fake fingernails. That shit hurts!

"Is this your little girlfriend?" she asked, emphasizing the word 'girlfriend'.

Tommy rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No." me muttered but she didn't pay any attention.

"She looks so...youthful! Look at her skin! What kind of foundation do you use, hmmmm?" she asked, all IN my face!

I...don't use foundation." I declared. She looked at me and blinked a few times.

"Reeeeeally? But your skin is SO smooth...and look at your eyes! They're SO big and beautiful! What color ARE your eyes, hon? I can't see the color in your irises with the lights being so fuzzy and all..." I blinked my "big beautiful eyes" at her, quizically.

"That's mainly because HAVE no color. My eyes are black, and I have no idea why." I said with a 'bitch, quit questioning me' look and tone.

"Hmm. Would you mind standing up?" she asked, locking arms with Vercetti again. I sighed and stood up, thinking this would be her last set of questions. I stood with my arms to my sides. I was about an inch and a half shorter than her because she had on some huge, clunky, stripper-heels.

"Wow, you're tall! And SO thin! Do you model, young lady?" she asked like I was a three-year-old.

"Nooooooo...I don't." I replied, playing her game. I spun around in a graceful twist because I had a feeling she'd ask me to, eventually.

"Hmmm, well we know YOU'RE black!" she giggled. I cringed and faked a smile at the insensitivity of her joke. I rolled my eyes and sat back down on the stool. She turned her face to Tommy, grinning like a dead cat.

"Well, you've got yourself a nice catch, Tom-Tom! She's gorgeous, she's tall, she has nice hair...Of course, I would +fill out+ a little better and I..." she looked down at my feet ..."wouldn't have as hard as a time finding shoes,but good for youuuuu!" she said smiling at me. I immediately stood up and got in her face.

"Well these big feet have been known to kick a few asses in their time, sweetface!" I said, hands at my sides, and balling my right hand up into a fist. Also having a phony smile on my face.

"She ain't my girlfriend, Ferrari...Now let's go." he huffed. I walked behind him and looked back at Ferrari. I shot her a 'bye bitch' look and she gave me a 'you haven't seen the last of me, whore' look.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(outside the club)

"I'm glad we decided to leave because I was about to beat that bitch's ass!" I said, getting into the car.

"Calm down, kid. Get used to it..." he sighed.

"What's up between you two...she seems like she has a huge crush on you 'Tom-Tom'." I said.

"MORE than a crush..." he started the car.

"So...what happened? Ya'll get divorced? Is she just trying to impress you? Does she have your REAL baby?" I asked, curiously.

"We just...fucked, okay!" he seethed. "I mean...we just...had relations is all..."

"Yeah, y'all just fucked." I said.

"Hey, don't say the 'f' word, kid. But yeah, all she wanted was a backrub, let's just leave it at that." he said.

"Hmmmmm. Okay." I said and stared out the window. 'A hit-and-run, eh?' I thought.

(silence)

"Can I drive?" I asked.

"No." he said, eyes concentrated on the road.

(silence)

I turned on the radio to a station called "K-Chat" or something.

"Did you know that men ENJOY looking at pictures of naked women?" said a female in a concerned voice. Most likely a femenist. "It's called 'pornography'..." she ranted. Taking this chance to be an assholeI turned to Mr. Vercetti with a corny smile on my face.

"Do YOU enjoy looking at pornography, Mr. Vercetti?" I asked.

'SCREEEEEEECH!' went the car as it came to a complete halt in the middle of a very busy intersection. I hit my head on the dashboard again. Note to self: make it a habit to wear a seatbelt.

"Do you understand WHY I don't want you working there!" he yelled. I darted my eyes from left to right.

"Because...it's indecent?" I said meekly.

"BECAUSE..." he yelled again then lowered his voice "Not just that, it's just...you don't belong in a strip club, kid."

"So it's indecent." I said.

"Yes...but...you belong..." he took a deep breath as I widened my eyes waiting for an answer.

"Don't stop in the middle of traffic, asshole!" yelled an anonymous driver but we paid them no mind.

"Belong...where?" I whispered, getting impatient.

"Never mind." he snapped and drove off. There was silence for the rest of the ride home.

- - - - - - -- - - - - - -

(at home)

about 10:30pm

Tommy's P.O.V.

Man, what an awkward ride. I need to keep that bitch Ferrari at bay. There's something about her that tells me I never should've hired her. I think she got through with that name 'Ferrari'. Get it? A girl with a car name working at the Pole Posistion club (A/N: which was one of Namco's very first arcade games if you still don't get the reference)? Clever.

I still need to find a way to let Moda know that I not only want to keep her, y'know, take her in from the streets, but I also want her to be my legal daughter. What was I gonna say "hey kid, even though I'm a convicted, psychotic killer, I want you to carry on my legacy and be my kid". If I said that, she'd probably PREFER to be in the streets. What the hell am I gonna do. My nerves are so fucking frazzled right now, I didn't even feel like collecting the money from the rest of my assets.

End chap 12

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Another rushed chapter I think. I had to throw in the "do YOU enjoy pornography" quote because I thought it was funny. And once again, I'd really like to thank my loyal readers who have read this far. I appreciate you! And have you noticed another connection with Ferrari's name? If you do, don't spill the beans and ruin it for the other readers!


	13. Need For Speed

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Chapter 13: Need For Speed

Tommy's P.O.V.

Over the course of the week (A/N: I'm a lazy bitch...), I realized more and more about the kid. Not only did she have a unique sense of humor but she was also very creative and smart. She thought of a lot of ways for my assets to make even more money and even coordinated the TV commercials for Sunshine Autos and Kaufman Cabs which air many times a day.

Moda's also a fast learner. In three and a half days, she had not only honed her driving skills to almost rival those of my own (key word: almost), but she also got the hang of other critical skills you need to learn in Vice City such as how to use different firearms, the maintenence of drugs (of course when she delt with drugs, I was ALWAYS supervising her), shortcuts to evade the police, gang territories, and how running over Haitains can ease a troubled soul.

However, the only thing she refused to do was kill without reason, like me. So she wouldn't run over anyone unless they were running from a cop, shooting at us, or trying to steal the car. I also taught her how to ride a bike which was very enjoyable to me as a "father" if you get the cliche'.

Yeah, Tommy Vercetti was more than proud, he was estatic. But I figured that she needed her own personal bodyguard seeing as how things were starting to get a little :tense: around here with rival gangs, Ferrari's bullshit, and an assortment of other assholes who want my head on a silver platter, so all of this would keep me rather busy and I couldn't keep my eye on her all the time.

So today, when I was going to present her with a...present, one that she would really love and use, I was also going to introduce her to a very distant...uh...relative of mine.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Moda's P.O.V.

I was in my room, laying on my plush queen-sized bed (A/N: if I remember, she did have a queen sized bed), reading a Seventeen magazine and listening to my walkman at full volume, I heard some distant yelling.

"Moda!" I paused, but brushed off this voice as a figment of my imagination and continued my reading. Seconds later I heard a really loud explosion which meant one of two things...

A police helicopter had followed Tommy to the house, only to be blown up, or Tommy had used a rocket launcher to summon me like he always does when I have my headphones on so loud that I can't hear him. I sighed, turned off my walkman and exited my room but on the way out, I was distracted by the mirror.

I checked myself in it. I had on a plain, close-fitting, bright-orange, spaghetti-strap tank and some baggy-leg jeans that hung loosely on my hips showing a bit of my lower-tummy. I had on a belt and a pair of high-top Chuck Taylor Converses to match the orange of the shirt. My hair was down and kinda messy so I just combed my fingers through it. I did a few poses in the mirror for fun.

'KA-BOOOOOM!' said Tommy's rocket launcher again so I sprinted down the stairs and out the front door.

Outside in front of the garage stood Mr. Vercetti in a plain white tshirt, under some baggy, demin overalls. He was also wearing a baseball cap. He was standing in front of an object which was obviously a car that had a gray sheet on it.

"Yeah?" I asked, shielding my eyes from the brightJune sunshine. Tommy stared at me.

"Are you planning to block off an intersection today? Ya look like a traffic cone, kid." he commented. I stood with my arms folded, my hip popped out and with a 'whatever' look on my face. 

"Are you planning to fix some pipes? You look like a plumber, minus the exposed asscrack..." I said. He chuckled at my sarcasm. .

"You're getting better, kid! But anyway, I've been thinking and I figured since I'm gonna be 'at work' all the time that I should provide a few somethin's for ya." He yanked the sheet over the car. "Ta-da." he said. My eyes lit up like the night sky on Independence Day. In front of me sat the most beautiful car I had ever seen.

"A Comet!" I squealed, bouncing up and down.

It was a soft but bright baby blue color, had ivory leather seats, a royal blue steering-wheel cover and on the hood was a huge, cursive 'M' monogram made from shiny rhinestones. Tears came to my eyes.

"Yep, my buddy at the Sunshine Spray 'N' Go really outdid himself." Tommy said kneeling down. "Thick, bullet-proof tires, durable windows, he even got the convertible roof goin'. Not a lot of Comets can do that, y'know. I figured you'd like the light blue and rhinestone thing and the leather seats." he reached into his pocket and tossed me the keys. The key was solid gold and had a Florida keychain on it. I ran up to Mr. Vercetti and threw my arms around his neck. I hugged him tight and planted a huge kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you so much, Tommy!" I said, squeezing harder.

"You're...welcome...kid." He strained, I relased him from my grip. "Just make sure you take care of it, this shit ain't gonna be cheap to fix!" he said.

I hopped into the driver's seat without opening the door and turned the steering wheel.

"How did you know? I always wanted a Comet!" I said.

"Actually...I didn't know. See, I was studying the way you drive. I analyzed that you needed a car that was fast, but not too fast, sleek, stylish, and somewhat compact so you can squeeze into tight spaces in traffic, versatile, and stable it wouldn't tip over so easily. Hence, a Comet." He explained. I put the keys into the ignition, starting the car.

"Wait, kid! Don't you wanna see what your other present is?" he said. I turned off the car and hopped out.

"Okay, sure!" I said. Vercetti put his thumb and index finger together in his mouth and whistled. I looked around.

"Another thing ya gotta know is that every being with even the smallest bit of signifigance in Vice City needs their very own, personal bodyguard...Except me." he smirked. His smile fell and he looked around also. "Where is he...Come on out you little bastard!" he shouted.

Emerging from the other side of the huge stoop in front of the house was a boy who looked to be about my age if not older. He was wearing a heavy, black, leather jacket and baggy, olive-green cargo pants. He also had on some skater-boy, BMX-like tennis shoes which looked to be too big for his feet. He had dark brown, spiky hair, almost as dark as Mr. Vercetti's, long sideburns, a wide forehead, big, light brown eyes, a cute button nose, a thick set of lips and smooth-looking vanilla skin. He was cute. Real cute. But he was short. He was almost two inches shorter than me.

"This is Speed...Claude Speed." Vercetti said. "He's my...uh...my nephew."

End Chapter

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I know what you're thinking! But I wasn't sure if GTA3 took place in the 70s or the early 2000s (I don't watch the intros) so I went with the early 2000s. I'm guessing Claude was in his mid-twenties so he was in his early twenties in the early 90s during San Andreas, right? I'm not sure because I have yet to play it but that would make him a teenager in the mid 80s, right? Okay.

As far as him being Vercetti's "distant nephew", just leave that, his future adventures, and Vercetti's family tree to your imagination. This is just for the sake of this fan fiction, okay? I figured I had to put Claude in the story sooner or later. Just to mix things up.

In case you didn't already guess, the Comet is my favorite GTA vehicle next to the Sanchez dirtbike. I mean, I always thought it was cute. I filled my Sunshine Auto and Hyman Condo garages with Comets. I especially like the white, red and baby blue ones. Thanks everyone especially "no1need2no!" thank you so much for your support!


	14. I Know Your Type!

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Chapter 14: I Know Your Type!

Moda's P.O.V.  
(around 6:00pm)

(silence...)

There was a dead silence between all three of us. Claude zipped the fly of his pants. Vercetti was just standing there. And I was almost lost in Claude's eyes. After coming back to reality, I decided to break the silence.

"Oh...Hi Claude." I smiled sweetly, showing my teeth and extended my hand.

Claude stared at it then looked at Tommy who nodded, I guess in approval. He reached for my hand with his left but then switched it not only because it would've been the wrong hand to shake with, but also because he had just used it to zip his pants. He firmly grasped mine and shook it. I was taken aback by how soft the palm of his hand was.

"Ahem..." said Tommy who turned to Claude. "Now your job is to always---and I mean ALWAYS, look after this girl...And the car. If she goes into a store, follow her. If she's talking to someone, I want you RIGHT THERE listening to every word they say. If a dude tries to get wise and make cat-calls at'er, shoot him in the elbow, or the knee, or the balls, whichever is more painful..." Claude nodded.

"And don't try to get lucky, either!" he shouted. "I know your type, hell, I AM your type..."

I looked at Tommy. He saw my face then turned back to Claude. "Homocidal, psychotic, manipulative, coniving, handsome, all of that." Claude rolled his eyes. 'The only you're not is silent...' he thought. Tommy turned to me.

"Moda, don't try to have any conversations with this guy." I frowned. "Seriously...nobody knows why but he refuses to speak. We think he might have a throat virus but he also refuses to see a doctor about it, so don't waste your time asking him questions that can't be answered with a nod or a hand gesture."

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Now if you excuse me, I have a guy to kill---I mean...a leak...to repair." he said, opening the garage and climbing into a white, worker's van that had "Top Fun" printed on the side. He drove off, leaving Claude and I in the dust.

(silence)

"So...ah...Claude..." I said. "Wanna go for a drive?" he nodded 'yes' and got into the car. I did soon after, but not before putting on my ultra-retro, huge and tinted sunglasses with the white, plastic frame.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Claude's P.O.V.

Uncle Vercetti had called me and flew me into Vice City, Florida for an assignment. Had I known that the assignment were to babysit America's Black Barbie, I would've stayed my ass at home. At least he's accomodating me here so it's almost like a paid vacation. Sunshine, big house to lounge around in, no school and virtually no work. She was driving fast and erratically around Ocean Beach, blasting the radio.

What puzzled me was, who WAS she? I mean, was she Vercetti's girlfriend or something? She looked awful young, maybe about my age. What was she doing in his house? I made a note to myself to find out later...

I took a good look at her. She had a..."different" look. All the girls at my school piled on makeup, clothes madein eye-sore colors, and looked like Cocker Spaniels with all of the poofy hair e verywhere. She, unlike most of them, was not only tall, but for her to be so slender, her hips really stuck out. Seeing as how she virtually had no tits, I was gonna take a peak at her ass but Tommy was watching. Her hair wasn't poofy but was jet black as if it was dyed. She had big, round eyes and big lips. She was cute for a black girl.

"More bounce...To the ounce..." she sang along to the radio and bobbing her head to the bass. She had one arm on the steering wheel and the other on the rim of the door. The wind moved freely through her silky, black hair. I wish that I could've sang along with the radio also because I really like this song...

"G-g-g-g-g-get on the dance flooorrrrrr...bay-buh..." she turned to me and flashed a small smile. "Ooh! A hot dog stand!" She giggled and yanked the steering wheel to parallel park. She did so perfectly and I was somewhat impressed. She hopped out the car and pushed her sunglasses to her forehead, approaching the cart while I stayed in the car. I read the sign on the cart. 'Shaft...The taste of a real man's meat' it said. What a suggestive slogan. She had ordered two hot dogs, both for her I pressume and returned to the car.

"Here, I got you a hot dog..." she handed me one of them. "I didn't know if you liked condiments or not so I got you some packets just in case." she placed some ketchup, mustard and relish packets into my hand. I nodded to let her know I was thankful.

"My name's Moda by the way..." she said.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Moda's P.O.V.

I bought the cutie a hot dog. Figuring that since he refused to speak, I took the nod he gave me as 'thank you', smiled and got in the car. I turned it back on and drove off. Seeing as how it was almost seven o'clock, meaning that the sun would be setting soon, I drove onto the beach. Driving through the sand and almost running over six beach-goers, I stopped at a grassy hill on the beach. I thought it would be nice to have dinner and a show.

I parked the Comet, turned it off and got out the car. I sat on the grass with my knees up, eating my hot dog, smothered in ketchup and sauerkraut. Claude got out as well but leaned against the hood of the car while he was eating. I looked at him and he was staring way off into the sunset, as if he had something on his mind.

"Nice sunset, ain't it?" I asked and smiled. He glanced at me, nodded, then continued to eat his hot dog.

I stared off into the sunset as well. Tears came to my eyes as I thought about my parents and how much I missed them...I sniffed and wiped my eyes. Then, I heard a very, very high-pictched sneeze, like that of a mouse...or a girl.

"Ah-choo!" squeaked the source of the sneeze. I said 'Bless you' and a thought came to my mind. I turned around to see Claude wiping his nose. "Was that...you, Claude?" I asked. Still staring at the ocean, he frowned and nodded. "So...is that why you don't speak?" He turned to me with a puzzled look on his face. "Because your voice is so...high? Do you hate the sound of your voice?" He turned back to the ocean.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Claude's P.O.V.

Great, now she knows that I hate the sound of my voice, therefore I don't speak. I'm almost seventeen years old and my voice hasn't broken yet. I sound like a soprano! I backed off the girl's car and sat down.

"Don't worry, I won't tell no one..." she said.

I kept staring into the sunset. I don't know what is it about them but they help me relax. We were sitting about fifty feet away from the car so I almost didn't notice when some dickhead crept up to it and got in. Waiting to she what she would do, I stood up and watched the creep turn the keys in the ignition. The car revved.

"What the--!" said Moda as she looked around and saw the culprit in her car. She got up and ran to it. She managed to stop the car-jacker before he was able to drive off. Expecting for her to scream 'Oh my God, my car is being stolen!', I saw the very opposite.

She yanked the driver's side car door open, pulled the car-jacker from the driver's seat and preceeded to beat him to a pulp. She sat on his pelvis and started punching him in the face.

"I...give...up!" said the culprit as blood and teeth flew from his mouth. I watched...amazed yet perplexed. She continued to deliver blows to his face and chest. "Get offa me...you crazy bitch!" he screamed in agony and used his strength to push her off. The creep got up and staggered a little before running away. 

"Oh HELL naw!" she exclaimed and opened the trunk of her car grabbing a golf club. She chased after him but got tired so he ened up escaping.

"Yeah, you better run, ya prick! You're lucky I spared you the pleasure of a cap in the ass!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, her puffy face red with rage. "Prick..." she spat.

She turned to me and smiled again. "Ready to go?" she asked. Still shocked, I nodded my head slowly.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Non-Narrative-Mode (A/N: I'm not sure if it's first or second person, but I'll find out!)

When the sun had finally set, Moda and Claude got into her stylish, new car and she started it. She turned the volume back up to full blast and continued to sing along with the radio, driving above the speed limit.

"I ain't never-ever-ever seen a sexy thing like YOU, bay-buh..." she sang, sneaking a glance at Claude on the "you". 'woof, he didn't catch that...' she thought.

She giggled to herself thinking about how cool she must look at the moment. Ultra-retro sunglasses, black hair blowing in the wind, custom-made car, one hand on the steering wheel. She sighed, feeling happy on the inside. She looked at Claude who was just staring at the blurred scenery. Her trance was disrupted by a piercing cellphone ring. She rolled her eyes, slowed down the car and answered the phone.

"Yesssssss?" she asked in an irritated voice.

"Don't 'yessssss' me, kid..." said Vercetti on the other line. "Listen, come back to the house. We're going out..."

"Yes, Tommy."she replied.

"Oh and make sure you bring that midget, Claude with ya. You didn't misplace him anywhere, did ya?" he said, loud enough for Claude to hear. Claude sneered.

"He's not a midget! But yeah, I'm on my way..." she said and clicked off.

End Chapter 14

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Whoooooooooo! How was that? This might seem kinda cliche'...the whole bodyguard thing but yeah, I needed a "bum-bum-bummmmmm" thing to jump off in the story. As you can see, our girl Moda is getting tougher under Vercetti's wing. And what has Ferrari been doing all this time, eh? I'll think of it soon enough!

And please note that the thing where some of the words stick together likethis (example) is not my fault. editor is kinda funky like that.


	15. Little Sanchez's Initiation

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A/N:  
Ohhhh man, 400+ hits, I never thought I'd see the day...Chapter 15, whoooooo! This is the longest story I have ever written. My second longest story was less than 10 chapters but I'm really proud of myself for picking a plot that I could drag out a little bit and not get uninterested in writing it. Thank you supporters!

I don't mean to nag but if you've read THIS far (which obviously means you enjoy reading this story) and haven't reviewed at least once, shame on you! You know who you are...

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Chapter 15: Little Sanchez's Initiation

Tommy's P.O.V.

(Vercetti Estate: 9:14pm)

I nervously checked my watch and paced back and forth on the porch. This was one of the very rare times that I had left Moda unsupervised (sort of) and yeah, I was a little worried. Not exactly shittin' bricks, gravel stones, maybe but not bricks. The third time I looked up, she pulled up in front of the stairs, running over a gang member by accident. She calmy turned off the ignition and jumped out the car.

"Sorry man, I didn't mean to..." she said, helping up the gang member who wasn't hurt that bad. "S'ok..." he strained, clutching his abdomen.

"Moda! Where the hell have you been! I was worried sick--" I shouted but she interrupted me.

"Shhhhhhhhh! He's asleep!" she said, pointing to Claude.

"Well...wake him up! Go and get dressed, kid. We got a date at the cafe...And show some Cuban spirit!" I yelled after her as she went into the house. I walked over to the car. In the passenger seat sat Claude who was huddled up in the reclined seat with his arms crossed. I slammed my fists down on the steering wheel's horn.

HOOOOONK!

His eyes shot open and he jumped up a little.

"Sleeping on the job?" I frowned. He groaned. "So whaddaya think, Speed..." His eyes darted from side to side as if he didn't know what I was talking about.

"About the girl, ya prick!" I shouted. He rolled his eyes and looked the other way.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Claude's P.O.V.

I was enjoying a little nap on the drive back home when I was awakened by a horn blast and Tommy's yelling.

"Do you find her attractive, Claude?" he asked. 'Yeah.' I thought but shook my head 'no'.

"Do you like her hair, Claude?" he asked. 'A lot, and it smells good, too.' I thought but shook my head 'no', still looking the other way.

"Do you like her ass, Claude? Is it to biiiiig for your taste?" he asked with a little anger in his voice. I hesitated but shook my head 'no' anyway.

"Yeah right...ya little bastard. I'm tellin' ya, don't mess with her! She's not like the girls YOU date or screw around with." he said as if he actually knew anything about me. 'God, Tommy! Get off my dick!' I thought and shot him a glance.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tommy's P.O.V.

I was on to that little pissant of a nephew of mine...Hmmph...He reminds me so much of myself. He kills, drives like a maniac, runs from the police...just like me and nothing like his father. I stared hard at him. Why am I so hard on him? Because I don't like the little fucker, that's why. But then, who else is even close to perfect for this assignment?

"Well, I'm gonna go change. You don't have anything red, or white?" I asked. He shook his head 'no'. I sighed and went into the house.

About an hour later, I met up with the kids outside. Claude was shooting pigeons, real not clay, with his Colt 45 and Moda was resting on the hood of her car. Again, she had on another, somewhat provacative outfit...

I could tell she had flat-ironed her hair (don't ask how I know), because it was straighter than usual and she had a red headband wrapped around her head but under her bangs. She wore a tight-fitting shirt with ripped sleeves, obviously making it a tank, that had the Cuban gang logo on it. She wore some light blue denim shorts which had stopped just below her buttcheeks and had small fringes, she also wore some black Doc-Marten boots like those Goth kids wear...Except they were tall and stopped just below her knee. I on the other hand, had my Cuban Gang gear on as well from the Little Havana clothing store.

"Geez, kid! We're just going to the cafe'!" I said.

"What?" she asked. "What's wrong with my outfit today?"

"Sorry, I just didn't know that you were planning to kill some Haitians on the way over..." she rolled her eyes. "Let's go. You too, Claude..." I said and got into the driver's seat of the Cuban Hermes. I started the car to see the kids still standing outside.

"What're you waiting for, get in!" I said. "Or are you two planning to walk all the way to Little Havana?"

"Uh...that's a two-passenger car..." Moda pointed out.

"Shit!" I cursed. "Well, Claude's just gonna hafta ride in the trunk." I said and shifted the car into gear. Moda smacked her lips.

"Quit playin'! He can't ride in the trunk! He and I will just have to...lap up!" she said.

"Alright...but he's gonna sit on YOUR lap..." Both of them rolled their eyes and crammed into the car.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Cafe' Robina

(about a half hour hater)

Non-Narrative

Tommy drove a little slower than usual so as not to damage the Hermes. On special nights at the cafe', Umberto requested to him that he show "Cuban Spirit" by dressing as a Cuban Gang member and driving a Cuban Gang car. Because Tommy despised dressing up, especially in the Cuban Gang clothes he finds to be foolish and didn't want to be the only one ''looking like a jackass'', he had forced Moda to dress the same. Even though he had never expected this.

Tommy parked the car and got out.

"Hey! A little help here!" Yelled Moda who was writhing under Claude's lap. Poor Claude just sighed and groaned with his head smushed at an angle against the roof of the car. Tommy came over to the passenger side, opened the door and pulled Claude out the car by his forearm, literally throwing him onto the concrete sidewalk in front of the cafe'. He helped Moda out the car, gently grasping her hand and lifting her from the car. Claude scowled and got up.

Tommy attempted to turn the doorknob on the...door but found it was locked.

"_Imarchese!_ We're closed! Hasta manana!" shouted a husky Cuban voice. (A/N: "go away!" or "scram!")

"It's us, Umberto...lemme in!" Tommy shouted, banging on the window rather loudly.

"Heyyyyy! It's mi _hermano_!" Umberto said, unlocking the door and opening it then locking it behind him and shutting the blinds. He greeted Tommy with open arms as he and the "kids" walked inside. "Glad to see you showing the good ol' Cuban spirit!" he laughed.

"Uh...hello?" Moda said, peeking behind Vercetti's shoulder.

"Ay, chica! Es me _sobrina bonita_, eh? Give your uncle a big ol' hug!" (A/N: "beautiful niece" for those of you who don' t know) he said, crushing Moda's ribs in a bear hug.

"Ack! _L-libereme_!" (A/N: "let me go!") Moda strained and Umberto released her, following an apology. Umberto pushed Moda aside and saw Claude, leaning against the wall, staring at a poster on it.

"Hey, you the boy?" he asked. Claude stood silent and gave him a puzzled look. "You the boy? Yeah, I think so...Tommy? He the boy?" Umberto shouted at Tommy who was talking to Umberto's father and six Cuban Gang members in the booths.

"Yeah, he the boy..." Tommy shouted back.

"Listen, you keep a really good _ojo_ on my sobrina..." he whispered to Claude then raised his voice "I mean, we all love our little Sanchez, am I right!" he shouted. All of the Cubans in the room shouted in agreement, holding up their drinks.

" 'Little Sanchez?' " Tommy questioned.

"Yeah, they gave me a nickname because I'm always riding on a Sanchez bike when I'm in the neighboorhood." Moda explained which made perfect sense. She loved the Sanchez bike. It wasn't as fast or as dangerous as the PCJ 600, nor was the seating so uncomfortable like on a Freeway or an Angel. She also liked it because she could pop wheelies on it without falling off and it could with stand going over rough terrain such as dirt and rocks. She especially preferred the red ones. Umberto walked over to Tommy and started talking to him leaving Moda alone. She saw Claude sitting by himself, staring out the window. She sat in his booth.

"Did you want something to eat?" she asked. He nodded and picked up the menu in front of him. After studying it for a minute, he realized that Spanish was definitely not his best subject and gave up. 'That's right...they did run out of English menus...' Moda thought. She got up and walked over to the bar and conversed with the waiter. She then sat back down at the booth.

"I ordered a plate of quesadillas. The order is big so we can share it." Moda said. (silence) "So..."

After Umberto finished telling Tommy about how he "killed" a Haitain, he and Tommy both turned their attention to Claude and Moda as they ate their meal or as how Moda was eating most of it. "Hmm...are you sure you can trust him to watch her? He's pretty _hermoso_..." (A/N: "handsome")

"Yeah, I guess..." Tommy sighed.

Back at Moda and Claude's table, Claude stared quizically at the pizza-like Hispanic dish that was placed in front of them. He looked up at Moda who was stuffing her face. Moda caught his stare.

"Fry' it, it's good!" she said with her mouth full of chicken and cheese. He stabbed a slice of the quesadilla with a fork and slowly put it in his house--I mean, mouth. He bit into it and chewed. 'Not bad...' he thought and continued to eat. Moda on the other hand decided it'd be polite not to take the last three slices so she just sat back, watching little Claude eat the meal that was so unfamiliar to him. He looked up at her then stopped eating.

"What's the matter?" she asked. Claude took the napkin his silverware was resting on and folded a corner of it. He reached over and dabbed Moda's mouth and cheeks clean of the sour cream and salsa that was on it. (A/N: awwwwwwwwww!) 'It was bothering me...' he thought and looked away. Moda blinked a few times, blushed and looked the other direction...directly into the eyes of Tommy who was watching the whole time. She shrugged her shoulders at him.

"Everybody, listen..." Tommy said over the many voices that were conversing at one time. "C'mon, people..." he said again but people were still talking. He stood up, took the a glass from the table and smashed it on the vynil floor tiles, shattering it into hundreds of pieces. The clashing sound silenced the whole cafe. Everyone closed their mouths and focused their attention on Tommy.

"Now that I have your attention...Assholes..." Tommy spoke calmly. "I've asembled you all here, to make an anouncement...One that will change my life forever..." Everyone hooted and lifted their beer bottles and soda cans. He pointed to Moda and gave her the 'come here' finger. She got up and stood next to Tommy. He put his arm around his shoulder and waved his free hand (holding a beer can) around to shush everyone.

"Kid, as...fruity...as this may sound coming from me, Tommy Vercetti..." he started. Moda giggled when he said "fruity". "Hangin' with you this week has been damn fun! But, I want more than fun from you..." He said and knelt down. Moda's eyes widened and she stepped back.

"Kid...I mean, Moda...I really like you, I trust you, I wanna spoil and provide for you, I wanna protect you." he took her hand. 'Oh shit!' Moda thought ''...and show you the ropes so when my time comes, my legacy will still go on..." Moda now had a confused look on her face. "I've felt a hollow void within my being for some time now and teaching you what I know has made that void half full..." he continued. "And plus, only someone this good-looking can be a Vercetti, right?" he asked aloud. The audience was hesitant to clap but there was scattered applause and agreement.

"Will you do me the honor of carrying on the Vercetti name by..." he reached into his pants pocket.

The whole room was silent. Umberto and his father were near tears, the Gang members were...well, they were drunk but still attentive, and even Claude was looking with curious eyes and mouth agape.

"...being my daughter?" Tommy pulled out a packet of paper which had been folded up into a small square to conceal in his jeans and a pen from behind his headband. Moda felt tears coming to her eyes. She covered her nose and mouth with her hands.

"I-I...+sniff, I don' know what to say..." she sniffled.

"Say you'll be my kid, kid..." Vercetti said. "These are adoption papers. Sign them and I'll be your official guardian." he handed Moda the pen.

'Ohhhhhhhhhh...I get it now...' Claude thought.

Moda studied the papers but soon after signed them. She hugged Tommy and cried with her chubby face buried in his chest.

"_Ole_'!" said the Cubans who toasted their drinks to one another. Some hugged, some, feeling unusually emotional, even shed a tear or two. "_Salud_!" (A/N: "cheers!" or "bless you" when there's a sneeze)

End Chapter

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Note that I said "end chapter" not "end story". I want to announce that I'm gonna continue this fic as another...story/volume because I don't want so many chapters in one place but best believe, I'll still be writing this! Thank you supporters!

Oh and aren't quesadilla delicious! They are also really easy to make! All you need are tortillas, chicken, cheese, some seasoning and your choice of fixin's but anyways, stay tuned for "Vercetti's Pet The Sequel: Daughter Of The Don". Or just "Daughter Of The Don" for short but you get the point. 


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